


My Immortal

by MatthewTheFadeStrider



Series: Mages Renounce Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cannibalism, Fade, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3699902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatthewTheFadeStrider/pseuds/MatthewTheFadeStrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders isn't the most rule abiding in the ferocious circle he was born into. The Templars are brutal, and cruel...finding ways to break mages into submission and force their hand to their own amusement no matter the age or gender.</p><p>As a young boy, named only by the first cruel treatment used upon him, is thrown head first - and might i add - asunder amongst the drowning blood....</p><p>They will be forced to band together, with the help of a beloved friend and unexpected prescience - to escape the cage the Templars have made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Names

**Author's Note:**

> The ratings, characters, and warnings are subject to change.

You knew to be quiet in the circle. It was a habit and and instinct you learned to train yourself into. The dark haired boy hadn't known this when his eight year old body had been thrown into the inhumanly cold cages that were shackle-bound to the carriage they drove. They drug behind on a platform, barely sustained by the ropes that bound them both to the chain dragging it - and the board below it. There had been days of travel without food, and every time he'd tried to sleep the Templars had jerked the carriage in such a way so as to snap the chain, rattle the cage, and make him flop to the side against the bars. His head would often bang against it, and so he'd learned to just sit up and try to keep as still as possible. They would sneer viciously at his plight, especially when he'd look up with sorrow-bound hazel eyes.

It gave him a bleak sense of why his father had always tried to shelter them from the circle.

_A wise man, a Templar - the only merciful one who'd wandered the shallow halls of that prison...he allowed me out. Said love shouldn't be stopped, especially since I'd more than proven myself capable of controlling my magic. Your mother and I have ran ever since...I don't know what happened to Ser Carver...though I don't think I want to find out. He was too great a man for the fate that comes to mind...far to great._

But eventually it had gotten to the child, all of it. The sleepless nights, being drug in a cage like this, and being starved...

He'd begged for mercy.

This taught him a valuable lesson, and one would stick with him for the rest of his years.

_Never cower, always show strength. Even on the brink of death, you do not break for the Templars._

It made his treatment a lot worse.

 

* * *

 

"Another poor soul, lost to the Templars." Anders counted the new arrival, his soft voice settling only to his sensitive ears. "If I had a sovereign...or even a copper...for that matter, for every kid my age dragged in here...out of the cage, and by the ankles..." He paused, "Maker...I could buy this place." He stretched out his legs, "Not that I would want to. To much upkeep...plus, the Templars filth is permanently stained here." He made a sound similar to a cat coughing up a hair ball, "They smell bad enough I couldn't stand to try and scrub it out." He watched his body drag towards the door, beaten into unconsciousness no doubt. "Stupid fool...didn't keep his mouth well enough shut. They hate that..." He sighed, "Better follow up." He decided, sneaking along his favorite route towards where they kept the youngest in the circle...

Or, what the Templars would call 'fresh meat'.

Like the vultures they were.

"Name." The first Templar was balancing a record book in his right palm, and a quill in the left.

"Refused to give it. And nobody has record of him...some damned apostate no doubt. Perhaps even of blood mage origin." Another Templar wildly claimed.

Anders wanted to throw up then and there. Always the same story with the Templars. The Mages couldn't so much as do an unusual cough without the Templars brandishing the name in their face.

"We'll amend that in a matter of days then, they always give up within the first few." He was scribbling something.

"Fasting Tactics, or a more personal approach?" The final Templar asked, checking an idle glance to his armor.

"This one seems easier to break. If we use the Garrote Technique he could give it up within the first few minutes." The second snorted, as if it was a joke playing with someone like that...let alone a child.

"Garrote Technique it is then, Captain Ren." The Templar quoted on his parchment.

When the three were out, led by Captain Ren, Anders assumed position nearest to the boy. The ground crackled under his feet softly, for it was stone and tended to do that under make-shift boots. The walls were dimly illuminated by a flickering candle, which cast dancing shadows all around...making them look like dark ghosts in a musical. Anders's right hand settled on the other's first spotted wound, and he closed his magic around it.

The skin stitched up easily enough, and Anders moved onto the next...and the next...and the next...until the boy was healed.

He seemed to be Anders age, but who could tell?

The boy shifted at this point, opening his mouth with a dry edge. He was thirsty and hungry...exactly why Anders left his food uneaten by himself. Pulling out the bread stored in his pack, he cracked off a piece without even a second thought to the notion. Plopping back he pushed it into the brunet's palm. "So...watcha in for, eh?" Anders said, cracking his knuckles with a familiar air.

"Who...who are you?" He blinked, as if confused by the sudden food introduction...as well as the sudden appearance of the blonde his age. He seemed tense, as well...which Anders had seen in all the children that came through.

"Ah, yes. I am...the ever charming Anders. Sadly, I am not a wanted apostate...but I've tried twice, already. I am however, a wanted Spirit Healer - particularly to those who have injuries...such as yourself."

The boy seemed mildly overwhelmed by it all, and sat up. His hair was a slightly shifted brown, almost black but not quite. "Anders?"

"Anders." He responded in confirmation, "Well...that's not my reeeaaaal name, but I don't speak the truth on that at all. Nobody needs to know my true name...ah, but you? What's your name? Oh..and don't worry, if you don't feel like sharing either that's your incentive. I won't push...but It will be tiring calling you, 'you' all the time. So I'll need to come up with something if that's the case..."

The boy, clearly relieved at his casual responses (and maybe a little lost between Anders's usually sharp, fast talking nature), slumped a little from his tense sitting position and began chewing on the bread given. "I...I'd rather not say."

"Hmm...then we'll need to call you something..." But the sharp noises of clanking told Anders that the Templars were returning. "Another time, perhaps..."

He slipped off before the boy had a chance to say another word.  
  
The boy quickly whipped his hands of the bread crumbs, thinking it wasn't a wise idea to keep them that way. His throat felt more dry than before, but it felt good now that he'd had some food...

* * *

He'd not broken.

The pain had been unbearable, a sharp cord sinking into his flesh and sometimes drawing just enough blood to keep his ability to whimper threatening...

But he hadn't broken.

* * *

Anders had appeared again, much to the dark haired boy's surprise.

And began healing him...

His father had some healing capacities, but had mostly focused them on those who were fighting with swords in the family...not those who used magic. That's not to say that after a battle or after an injury ensued he wouldn't...he just commonly focused more on those without magic.

"Garrote cords, huh? Andraste's knicker weasels...I didn't get that treatment until I had ran away once..."

"It wasn't pleasant..." He said quietly.

"It speaks." Anders let out a soft tone of laughter, "You hadn't spoken for at least an hour...I was worried you'd lost your voice to all that trauma."

"I..." It was obvious he didn't know quite how to take Anders, but was relieved at his company all the while.

"Speaking of Garrote cords. I think I have the perfect name for you...since you got one of the coldest treatments on your first run, I'll name you Garrett." As if he was a parent, or a owner naming his new pet cat. "Think of it as a badge of honor. What do you think? Ah, you like it I know. I know. I'm amazing, so It's only suiting. You...my friend...are lucky. Everyone is going to bow to that name, mark my words. And think of it...all because the most charming amazing guy gifted it to you."

"I...like Garrett...yes..." He said between sips of the precious water that Anders had bestowed unto his palm not a minute before.

"Great! See, I figured we'd get along splendidly - the second I laid eyes upon you I thought 'yup, there's a guy with perfect taste'. Hmmm..." He halted, leaning back with a cocked head. "You know, Garrett. _Garrrreeettt_... _Gaaaaarrett._ Yes, I do like that. You know, Garrett? I think you are going to find out that I'm not exactly a rule a bidder here...I figure, you can either fly under the radar - barely - or just provoke the Templars for your own amusement. So I choose the latter...what do you think? No - you don't have to say anything...I know. I have the best philosophies."

Two blinks, but Garrett had decided he liked Anders's upbeat behavior, even if he thought it might cause the other trouble in the future.


	2. Traumatic Resonation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update: The title was changed after my sister pointed out that the song "My Immortal" (Evanescence) fitted the story almost perfectly.
> 
> Warning: Stop Reading if you hate Drama. This is going to be a dramatic and brutal story. The Ratings have gone up since the prior update. Angst will ensue during this, and it hasn't even fallen off the cliff to hit rock bottom yet.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Rape, and a small portion of the story dedicated to Comedy Relief.

“Anders, for Maker’s sake…” Garrett pulled the other in, away from the prying eyes of the Templars and inside the confines of the private room. The walls were a dark coloration, mild blood splattered down across the base of the wall. Usually the walls were black with midnight blues, dark reds, and/or solar purples intertwining into a bleak symbolic outline of their life here. The Templars had saved no expense to ensure everything about this place was stark…even the colorations of the walls. The only thing that gave it a lighter coloration (at times) was the blood splattered on the panels between the rooms. They barely passed for walls these days, as certain areas were crumbling and Mages were forced into stuffing their robes there to keep unsavory noises and private conversations away from the general public…particularly the Templars. “Get in here and stop waving your junk to provoke them…” He closed the creaky wooden door wearily, pulling Anders by the arm in the attempt to find proper pants for him. Even though he knew that effort was to be wasted…Anders hated pants…

“Garrett, why, I had no idea you would be so protective over my junk-“

“Shut up and get over here-“ He said with a twitch of his eye, despite a hidden twinkle at his friend’s humor.

“Oh…my, Garrett…” Anders’ eyes twinkled like two gems when he said those words. “You must be really feisty-“

“Don’t take that the wrong way…” He rolled his eyes, “Here, compromise. They’re not quite pants but not open ended robes either.” Garrett shoved lose hanging shorts into Anders’s palms and let him go simultaneously.

 “Garrett, you know I hate-“

 “The Temps will be the last things you worry over if you don’t put those on and stop flapping your gums.”

 The _Temps_.

 A discriminatory name most Mages called the Templars, these days, behind closed doors (and cracking, blood stained, walls). Most of the Mages preferred to confront the name and say it privately. Most Mages aside from Anders, who preferred to say it loudly and in public…

 Garrett had made note several times that Anders was lucky to be a spirit healer, lest he permanently keep twice as many marks on his body than he already acclaimed to. Not that he’d want to heal them all, (I mean Andraste) he practically wore them as medals of Honor. Defying the Templars was his acclaimed duty here, and it showed. When he wasn’t under Garrett’s protection, the male tended to get whipped almost to the curb. But perhaps the reason why the sadistic Templars didn’t just kill him or throw his dead, or almost dead, body to the curb was because he gave them constant reasonable cause to torture someone. “I could always open my mouth for something else.”

 Oh yes, and not to mention that destructive behavior. Garrett swore Anders was going to have his way with everyone in the circle before he resigned to the age of 21. Garrett was one of the only people who didn’t latch onto his body like arm candy, not that he hadn’t considered it once or twice. Garrett tried however, to stay away from those who had orgies on a constant basis…

 Actually, he tried to stay away from sex in general, because he’d had an unfortunate past experience that pushed him away from the thought as a result of fear. “Try it.” Garrett’s blush was redder than the fire he summoned on a regular basis.

 "Ohhh…so you’re giving me leave then? Oh I’ll show you my expertise Garrett-“

 “Enough, Anders. It’s gone to far.” He tried to tuck his head down, tried not to give Anders the advantage of seeing the blush on his face, but Anders gave a signature pout; the same pout that always made Garrett cave into apologizing when he offended him in some fashion, the same pout that made Garrett give him part of his desert when they had it, and the same pout that made Garrett get into trouble with him when he began the speech/suggestion with his two infamously dangerous last words: ‘come on’.

 Thank the maker their two companions chose that moment to come barging in like all guns were blazing, “Man – Anders – you have no sense of personal space do you?” The youngest of the four, Mordred, said - his elven ears sticking out whilst black waves (of long hair) currently shifted (side to side) from his headshake.

 “It’s my specialty.” Anders struck a pose, two fingers curling while his eye winked and stuck that way.

 “It’s your doom, but isn’t doom just one more aspect of life? Co-incidentally it seems so in this ridiculous portion of the world. And I thought that Minrathous had it’s downsides.” Dorian Pavus, the only son of a magister that managed to get caught amongst the foul politics of the Circle after leaving Minrathous, encroached with a smirk and a twinkle stuck in his eyes. “Plus…the food here tastes of despair.”

 This sudden burst of their presence amongst the room made Garrett relax, knowing that the privately awkward moment was over. He sighed in exasperation, “You know everything tastes of despair, looks of despair, pretty much acts of despair…” He paused, “You know, Anders was bad, but two…both of you…I can’t handle the strain.” He smiled again, tension lost to his shoulders.

 “Oh don’t be that way, arsonist – you know you love us.” Anders called him this friendly nickname, in part because he used fire magic more than any other version there in, and in part because he accidentally set him on fire once as a child. The reasoning behind his choice to love fire magic was plain, but secret. His sister had once wanted to do the same at one time, and so he took after her in honor of her memory.

 Mordred pinched the bridge of his nose, “At least you passed your Harrowing. I still have to dorm with these two brutes.” And that, in of itself, is a miracle…

 He’d ran under the radar for a long enough time that he’d managed to lull the Temps into allowing it. Most of the time they just slice and dice without conscious, killing them because they hated the mage in particular. That’s why Garrett worried for Anders, because he was getting to the age where they would call him to his Harrowing…

 And everyone knew the Temps hated him in particular. But perhaps they would keep him alive so they’d still have a punching bag…?

 Who knew…?

 “Brutes?” Anders slapped the back of his palm onto his forehead with an over-dramatic claim of offense via body language. “And after all we did last night!”

 Chalk that up to yet another who fell victim to Anders’s track record.

 “And here I thought you’d never fall for his acclaimed charms – my, my, my fellow mage…how illicit. I’m shocked and scandalized.”

 “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?” Mordred raised his eyebrow.

 “Not just a hint. I think that was a Dorian version of ‘butt load’.” Garrett rubbed his forehead in a circle.

 “BUTT LOAD! Well punned, Garrett!” Anders smirked, even though Garrett hadn’t intended it. “For it was – indeed-“

 “Enough, Gigglespot-“ The nickname came out before Mordred could stop it, and his mouth clamped shut like a dwarven mechanism.

 “Gigglespot?!” Garrett and Dorian both burst out in their own way, the one word question a chorus of laughter.

 Mordred, clearly seeing (the metaphorical) cat was peaking, it’s nose, from inside the bag and was going to be forced out now, sighed. “He has one place on his back that if you touch with el-”

 “They don’t need to know that-“ Anders’ eyes suddenly looked as if he was wired, expression like he was worried for being ratted out on something.

 “Oh, now I’m even curious.” Garrett’s right eye brow raised, mostly because he wanted more than anything to fit in despite his aversion to sex.

 Anders looked flabbergasted, “No-No-“

 “Oh do continue-”

 Mostly the boys banded together on the premises of either their mutual interest in just men, or both sexes. “If you charge your fingers up with mild electricity, you can touch a spot on his lower lumbar that makes him break out in a giggle.”

 Two words, a hilarious break out of laughter, Garrett crumpling to the floor while holding his stomach, and Anders’s embarrassed face responded to the information.

 

* * *

 

 

 

  _When you lived here, you learned to endure – no matter the hardship presented to you by the Templars._

_Garrett learned to keep his head down, but even then he still managed to get in trouble. It was inevitable when you were friends with Anders, and especially when you were as close to him as Garrett was. Anders had begged him over and over not to take the rap for him, but Garrett would at times._

_When they were young, he especially did…_

_And this time was no different._

_Anders had **‘accidentally’** set the Templar’s lower tresses on fire through his helmet. They’d slipped down, and as Anders was wildly getting a hold of his offensive magic, he turned towards the man – seemingly attempting at a look of tripping because of his robes. Instead, Garrett had used the only force magic he knew to push him back onto his feet, and had held out his hands simultaneously so as to make it look like he’d done it on purpose._

_Anders had given his friend a worried look, as if he had wanted to get in trouble…and not him._

_But it hadn’t fazed Garrett as he slowly lowered his hands, and the Templar charged towards him. The apprentices had parted ways, cowering for fear that they were the criminals charged with all but nothing._

_But he’d made it to Garrett with little grace and more of an intimidation tactic. Garrett had held up his hands once before, but it only made the treatment worse showing a cowering stance – for they knew they had power over you when you did that._

_He was backhanded, and then kicked in the rib, before being drug off to somewhere Garrett knew not at first. His bleak eyes just stared behind him as he was dragged by one ankle, the rest of his body limp and sliding with the sound of a dead nug sliding against stone before being drug to it’s slaughter (so it may be consumed at a later date). Garrett remembered that sound, especially when he slid over the carpets purposefully so that he’d have the chance of carpet burn. Yet he didn’t show a coward demeanor through it all, just a blank stare and an unreadable expression._

_His arms drug above his head, and his other leg screamed in mid air with no support._

_He was drug into a room with one candle, many sharp objects of known and unknown purposes, as well as one metal table that warned of torture. This was were the Templars kept the Mages for ‘re-stability’ or the lesson of what happens when they don’t comply with their twisted rules. Sometimes, they claimed a false rule so that they could have their sadistic nature satisfied for no reason._

_The Templar wouldn’t have questions asked; he could do just about anything in here – and then make a Tranquil Mage clean it up later. Sometimes Mages died in here, and everyone was just expected to move on without anything being challenged._

_He must have been 15 when this happened, for he wasn’t too much older than his teenaged transition. He couldn’t remember, all he remembered was the beginning of blood dripping down onto the floor…his blood._

_And then penetration, which was the worst of the ‘lessons’ they taught. Sometimes the Templars even were sadistic enough to teach them a lesson via rape. It was a horrid life to live…_

_But there was nothing they could do, but pretend it wasn’t happening – or worse yet – try and forget it ever did. Templars got off on those things, quietly, behind doors – they choose their victims…_

_Sometimes Garrett wished his body wasn’t so attractive…_

_He often wished his eyes weren’t a beautiful shade of hazel, or his hair soft and luxurious…and especially his body a sculpted, cherished, reverent item to want…_

_And the worst part?_

_He was a virgin before that._

 

* * *

 

 

Garrett awoke with a resonating fear settling somewhere between his heart and his stomach. His ribs racked with ragged breaths and forehead beaded sweat like the remains of rain that was trickling from a leaf inside a dense forest. Garrett spent the next few moments settling into a normal state of mind. After a moment, he reached out and clasped his hand over the tattered remains of the blanket that the Senior Enchanter had given him upon first arrival. She was nice to Garrett, but had been beaten to death by the Templars after they found out she’d made such a gesture. They’d later found the item and ripped it up before his eyes, laughing cruelly as they watched him stare at the remains.

The only Templar he could stand was a man named Cullen Rutherford, but even he had his dim views on mages. He however, had an interesting back-story Garrett once found out about. In succession they had demoted Cullen, and killed a beautiful female Mage without warning, but it was found out later they had fallen in love with one another…

This was strictly prohibited, and when Cullen was demoted harshly to a base command with hardly a rank above any Templar…

And had the love of his life killed...

And then he was brainwashed magically by the Templars. So Garrett felt bad, despite his newly found sadistic nature. It now seemed he was the Templar version of a Tranquil these days…

Retaining his powers, but without a mind of his own…

It wasn’t his fault…

Still, before this occurred – he was a good man…

He cared deeply for the Mages, and even did his best to stitch up the blanket behind closed doors.

Garrett clasped his hand around it, feeling a familiar presence by the blanket…such a strange thing. When you had an item made by someone you cared about, or someone that cared about you – you always felt his or her presence there…

Not like an abomination, and not like a haunting…

It was more like a memory that manifests itself in your subconscious mind as a reminder.

Garrett pulled the object to his chest and closed his eyes, focusing on the memory...

A familiar face, smiling with lines in her face and gray hair…

Wynne, she had called herself…

She was nice…

Like a grandmother to the youngest of the mages…

And to all…

It took a moment before he calmed himself, and when he did he lifted his head with a weary silence. His beard was growing again, and he’d like to keep it that way this time. Four years...

Four years since that memory.

He was 19 now and he still had the experience burned into his mind so vividly that he could summon it before his eyes, if he wanted to. He felt like a child being so attached to the blanket, but he couldn’t help it for some reason. 19, and sleeping with something like that made him feel crazier than the day is long…

But it was warmth to help him cope through the fear-stricken nights. Almost every night he would dream of the faces lost to the Templars, or his own experiences there in.

I guess a coping mechanism, no matter the version, was still a coping mechanism…

Letting go of the item and hiding it from view he decided that he’d get up no matter the time and slid out of the covers towards his thin-plated robes. Once he’d slipped everything on, he grabbed his staff and swung it over his shoulders to the leather strap where it settled against his back, sliding often over his shoulders.

His feet carried him out into the hall and down to where he always went sometime, around this point, in the morning. Hazel eyes blinked off the unrest and a weary, muscle bound, body resisted the fatigue laying dormant in it’s system.

It wasn’t long before he found himself in a state of complacency with his resistant body, and ended up sitting on a chair alone to practice his magic away from the eyes of the Temps. One of the nice things about these Temps is they didn’t think they were here to keep the Mages safe from themselves and others…

They were here for their sadistic pleasure.

 

* * *

 

_Anders didn’t understand the extent of Garrett’s issues. He had never understood it, despite having to live with the issues he had. Naturally, seeing his companion up and about at this hour again, he was inclined to coach him back into bed. After all, he’d barely had three hours of sleep before he gave up again. Anders’ lips curled down, eyebrows furrowing into a scrunch showing painful anxiety. “Garrett…” He spoke softly, eyes concerned and frustrated at the same time._

_It felt like his feet were bound to go to him, just as it always was when nobody was looking. There were things exchanged in the darkness that nobody knew about…_

_He’d been particularly close to him ever since childhood, feeling a call of the Spirit Healer’s nature to heal wounds…_

_This was just an emotional version._

_Garrett had so many wounds; some that Anders still tried to close today, some he managed to heal but were repeatedly opened, some that lingered shielded and hidden from his grasp by Garrett, and some that Anders could never heal from existence completely._

_Garrett knew he was there before Anders stepped into his line of sight, and knew the routine of shifting around on his heals to see him. Again, the usual pattern showed itself when he discouraged his aid in his issues. “Anders…I don’t need coddling…” He tried to distance himself from direct contact, from the healer’s touch that reached out to him._

_Anders was not so easily pushed away, which is why Garrett didn’t struggle when Anders finally grasped a hold of his strong shoulders and pulled in, greeting his body in a friendly, and comforting, hug that created a warming touch. “Maker, don’t you push this again...” Anders warned, eyes flickering between a silencing expressiveness to a soft familiarity despite Garrett’s resistance to look him in the eye. Anders had height advantage between the two, and as such he used it to his command. “You need to stop suffering alone, Garrett. The surest way to never get past these things is to suffer alone…”_

_“I…I don’t want to be coddled.” He said truthfully._

_“You don’t have to be…with me. I love you.”_

* * *

 

Anders eyes opened with a slow air, and a painfully silent response to the ending. Anders body shook for a moment, just slightly. Anders’ bright hair was scrunched and wild, sticking up in places and flat in others. He realized he’d have just about an easy time getting his hair down as Andraste gathering an army without Sharitan.

He felt that moment, like in his dream, would never come, and perhaps that’s why he surrounded himself with people who were more than willing to satisfy his needs. The other day he’d taken a younger apprentice, somewhere between fifteen and seventeen of age…

He didn’t pay attention to the name…

Anders rolled over alone, his eyes closing with angst in them. He couldn’t count on his fingers the worst things that had happened in his life.

I guess the first mistake that led to the legacy of shadows was being born here…

After that unfortunate event…it was simply inevitable to tumble down the hill of misery…

Anders stretched out his legs and arms just as footsteps called his attention towards the door. A faint fire flickered as embers, illuminating a silhouetted figure that was undeniable. Nobody had that shape, not in Anders eyes…

There was only one person who looked like that…

Makers breath, Anders couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that man to show up like he’d jinxed his name three times to summon him. Anders and Hawke practically shared the same eyes, aside from the fact that Anders was only slightly brighter. It was a faint difference in tone however, and was barely recognizable save for a bright firelight. Perhaps it’d be recognizable in sunlight too, though they’d never know…

“Anders.” Thank the Maker he came for him.

“Well, Garrett. I never would have expected your unprecedented arrival? Who knew you would fall victim to my charms at-” Anders halted, recognizing the expression immediately. This wasn’t a social call; this was someone needing a friend…

As a result, Anders’s expression fell into seriousness, and he swung his legs up to shift them over the edge of the bed. “Come here you overgrown softy.”

“ _Magical_ softy, I’ll have you know.” The Teenager scoffed like Anders had committed a misdemeanor, eyes rolling in typical fashion of following such a remark.

“Magical softy _with a beard_. And a rather nice one at that…I always thought you knew the finer points of grooming. I could never pull off a beard, but you do it beautifully.” This remark by Anders clearly flattered Garrett, for a red tint appeared on his cheeks rather quickly under his beard. “But you didn’t come here for flattery did you? Come, tell – Doctor Andy is here.”

“Andy?”

“It’s better than Sparkles.”

A snort. “Poor Dorian...I still can’t believe you were that cruel to come up with such a name.”

“Actually, it wasn’t me precisely. A friend of mine used to call him that, the first and last time we escaped together. He used to call me Blondie…hmmm…I wonder what ever became of him…”

“A friend of yours?” Garrett snorted cordially, “Since when have you had any contacts outside the circle?”

“What do you think I do when I’m escaping, Garrett? Doing a spicy shimmy?”

“That’s an image.” Garrett said with a grunt.

“I bet you’d want me to do it with no clothes.” He hinted with that outwardly insincere, inwardly aspirant, expression on his face.

“Dance with no pants?”

“I already dance with no pants, Garrett. It’d just be without a robe.” His lip quirked, one eyebrow rising with a point, “That said, it depends on what kind of dance with no pants-” He tested the waters, reaching out to tentatively bump against him playfully. Anders regretted doing so as soon as he did, eyebrows punching together just like in his dreams. Garrett’s face locked up tighter than steel doors held together with an uncountable amount of wards. Anders never knew what the deal was with him and avoiding sex, for he was the only one in the entire Circle who did. Most reveled in it, for it was a quiet way to rebel against the Temps without consequences…

For even their standards weren’t low enough to cock-block against multiple mages at once, whether they knew about the encounters or not…

“Garrett, have you lost your voice again? I’m seriously reconsidering your name to change it to a self proclaimed ‘silent one’.”

“I’m a person, Anders. Not a pet you can name.”

Anders flinched, his realization of his having crossed the line hitting him like a backhand. Luckily, Ser Pounce-A-Lot had chosen an opportune moment to live up to his name, pouncing on Garrett’s lap with a purr for attention.

**_Traitor_**. Anders inwardly huffed, realizing he may be acting like a child.

“I do like your cat.” The silence broken, Anders relaxed. He realized his previous transgressions were forgiven for now…and perhaps this was Garrett’s version of an apology as well. “I’d just suggest hiding him carefully from prying eyes.”

…And an unnecessary warning…

…GREAT…

“I should know that already, Garrett. It’s the obvious after-all.”

“Just expressing my mutual concern for your good company.” He said, scratching the feline behind the ear with a sound of content.

“Good company? Very suggestive there Garrett, are you considering yourself lacking in some fashion?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Are you considering Mordred and Dorian lacking in some fashion?”

“Why are you bringing them into the equation? Are you going to claim evil lies about me?”

“Stating the obvious, Garrett.”

Garrett faked a hurt expression, “Why?”

“Because I’m corrupt and malevolent.”

“Since when?” He chuckled.

“Always, Garrett – since always…and not to mention I’m unparalleled in comeliness, insanely charming, infamously breathtaking, and peerless in magical talents. Simply put – I am a villain nobody wants to cross.” Then he let out a fake villainous laugh that caused someone beside them to snort – giving warning that they were close to waking. Anders lowered his tone, “Muah…ha…ha…ha…” He whispered in repeat.

Garrett snorted, brought out of his prior drama easily by his friend’s nature.

It was a sickeningly sweet moment.

One that Garrett silently wanted to live in forever…

“You know what day tomorrow is, right?” Anders tilted his head inquiringly.

“Tuesday?”

Anders punched him in the shoulder. Garrett didn’t flinch; he knew he had that coming long before it came at him. “Don’t be a smart ass, that’s my job. Plus being outstanding and breathtaking. You just stand there and look hot for the fans.”

“Fans?” He snorted, “Since when have we had fans, Anders?”

“Since you decided to become my companion along this wild ride of life. You wouldn’t believe how many women and men would just bow to you and crawl on their knees for you if you gave the word.” He said, shoving down the jealousy in his subconscious line of thought. “Mayhaps you could even get them to worship you, Garrett. Think of the possibilities…”

He ignored the last bit, “Your companion? And here I thought I was the one who led our adventures in the Templar’s Keep.”

“More like Templar’s Torture House of Insanity, and no – no you would never have the gall to do such…plus, you can stand behind me and enjoy the view. It’s much better that way…”

Garrett blushed, causing a self-satisfied smile on Anders’ face for his remark.

Anders looked up into the eyes that shared a mutual color with his own, realizing how strong Garrett was in this world compared to his dream world. In his dream world, Garrett showed submissive resistance to Anders, sharing his worst fears and sorrows with him as he settled into his protective grasp. He would share a bed with Anders, often speaking soft words of the guilt and fears that built up into his mind. Anders, protective and strong, would speak words in return – would hold his hands through the night as he whipped the slate clean. He would hold his hands and stop the bad, spreading the good within his soul so as to replace that which threatened to tear Garrett down…

Like when they were children…

When Garrett would curl up in Anders bed across from his own…

He would cuddle with Anders after a vivid nightmare of his family’s death and his being dragged away by the Templars at 8. Sometimes he would cry of his parents, sister, and brother at the age of 9 – how he missed them, how it hurt to think of them, and how he felt like a brother to Anders. He would speak softly of his day and the fact that it reminded it him of his past at 11.

Those nights dried up after that, and Anders was left to quiet thoughts during the silent nights that passed thereafter…

Until one night when he was 15...

He wouldn’t speak of the reasoning behind his sudden thoughts; perhaps because of the torture he was given prior that night. He spoke of how he would speak of lonesome thoughts about the future and how he missed him on the days Anders would attempt to flee the circle, and his thoughts on the possibility that he may gain permanent freedom. “Why are you a runner, Anders?” Runners were the mages, titled in this particular circle in the Anderfels, who repeatedly tried to escape, “If you leave, I’ll be devastated Anders. I’d…I’d miss you to much to…” He’d cut off, turning away before he finished and returning to his own bed shortly after.

But some things didn’t need to be said…

Anders had finished the sentence on his own…

**_“I’d miss you to much to…go on.”_ **

Anders never tried to run again after that seventh attempt…and so he was a runner, meaning no longer. Anders knew that Garrett would never try to run, for this was the only world he knew anymore…

“Tuesday. Tomorrow. Don't get me off track, Garrett..." He tasked, "Tomorrow is when you were brought in. It's your Induction Day...can you believe it's been 11 years?"

He subtly groaned, "Why do we celebrate that, anyways?"

"Only once every 11 years, Garrett...and it's celebrated quietly because it's a reminder that we endure."

"Who created that?" He asked, turning towards him.

"A Mage."

"No shit." Garrett gave out a shove against Anders' shoulder. "I mean WHO...as in the name..."

"Who's name."

"Stop. Smart. Ass." Garrett's face lit up with a stupid grin.

Anders couldn't help but admire the expression, for it suited his hansom face quite nicely. Even if it was goofy as Mordred looked trying to stand on his palms, which was another story entirely, it still made his features light up to show off the finer points of his face grandly. Anders winked, his own face following suite as if it was contagious as a viral disease...just a very nice one. "You'd be surprised to know it was a Templar and a Mage."

Garrett blinked, genuinely surprised. "Wha-?"

"That was exactly my reaction when I was told." He said with a shrug, "But apparently, at some point or another, this place wasn't filled with one eyed one helmeted flying templar pain eaters..." Garret snorted, then and there, at Anders' description. "I know! Shocking, isn't it? But Apparently it wasn't...and apparently they were pleasant..." He looked thoughtful, "I can't imagine what that was like...Temps being nice to Mages. Temps and Mages getting along like two peas in the pod..." He shifted his thumbs, head tucking down so his bed-headed hair was forced to shift forward slightly. "Apparently the Knight Commander and a Senior Enchanter created the idea and the Mages loved it. 11 was made as the number because it's considered the Master Number here. Apparently because the first mage placed in the circle was eleven, and so it was born. Like a baby nine months after sex...only...not as painful and there was a lot less blood...at the time at least."

"So the Temps actually allow it still?"

"Nope." He answered, "But we do it quietly anyways...it's like a discrete way of Rebelling against the Templars all at once, isn't it glorious?"

"Only if we don't get the Bone Modus-Operandi all at the same time..." Garrett stated plainly, hazel eyes lingering around the stark room filled with the masses of Apprentices. He was surprised none had woken, though it was probably just as well, seeing as though Mages and Apprentices weren't to be seen 'conversing after hours'.

"Oh my simple, precious minded, little Garrett, it could be so much worse. We could get the Iron Bar Routine, the Penil Insertion Procedure, the Electric Nullification Process - oh but the worst is the Bloodletting Routine." He shuttered as if a cold wind had hit him in the face, "I got those once. I'm so lucky I managed to heal myself in minor spots while they weren't look every now and again...lest I be partially castrated down there..."

  
Garrett made a sound deep in his throat like he was about to gag and had forced it down. "Why do you piss them off so much, Anders?"

"Because if I don't who will?"

"That doesn't exactly 'splain things." He slurred, encroaching upon lethargy.

"My dear Garrett, don't you understand? No? Ah. You will someday." It seemed the cue to end the conversation.

Garrett was pointed out, a sentiment that left many questions unanswered as to why Anders constantly caused mayhem just to direct the Temps attention. Someday, he thought...someday sooner...or perhaps later...he would...

So why did he have a sense of foreboding on the thought?


	3. Pain Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sexual Referances, Graphic Content, and (obviously) vile and corrupt Templars with a Malevolent intent.
> 
> Update: This chapter skipped over his Induction Day because I was going to do an entirely different short on it. Originally, I was going to dedicate an entire chapter on it...
> 
> But things change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where things take off. You will see a lot of Mordy in this this part, for this is his introductory chapter.
> 
> WARNING: I rushed to get this chapter finished today because there will be a few days to a week where I won't update. It depends on what goes.

Some days later, possibly weeks, Anders' body was drug back to the apprentice's quarters by his left ankle (by a single Templar) while blood ran from the back of his head. Spreading out in a line (as if a giant paint brush itself was moving downward) it gave new color to the floor, a fresh coat of red paint, against the stone that the Temps wouldn't bother to clean up later. Of course, it would 'serve as a reminder to those who disobey', not that the other cowering mages would have had the attitude to do so...

He was thrown wildly across his bed like a rag-doll, arms and body flailing against the sheets with an intermediate five on the rated scale of his belly flop. The Templar's armor clanked, indicating that he was turning around when Anders' nerve showed itself again. "That's it-" He coughed out a single spurt that caught and ran down his lip, currently curved into a fittingly dissenting sneer. "You're growing soft; come on Aeron, we know each other so well...where's the mutual disrespect that I've come to know from a agonizingly disgusting person like y-" A gauntlet gave him a good blow across his jaw, spit and blood flying wildly as Anders body was forced in a 360˚ (right onto his palms). It caused enough interruption to garner Anders inability to finish the original provocation...but did prove that Anders had achieved his task even if the sentence was unfinished.

"Call me by my command - Chief Officer Aeron - for you will show respect to your superior, mana user." He sneered, as if proud of his feeble attempted slight.

"Is that what passes for an insult these days?" Anders antagonized, wanting to get a rise out of them. As expected, the next attack was the business end of the equation...the blunt end of the Templar's sword came crashing like a tidal wave over the blonde's forehead with a brutal crack. Blood gushed, clashing with his direct vision, and causing it to blink out for a second as he endured the pain of his head trauma...

To keep going, he focused on the area before he couldn't cast spells, and then healed it up without even a second thought to the matter. A green glow caused an enraged Templar to show his ugly mug close in front of Anders' snarling face. "You think you have the right to use magic to heal the wounds we inflict as punishment? I should recommend you be made tranquil for the simple defiance-"

Anders lip curled up, the first signs of anger flaring at the foul word, "Oh, but then who will be your pin-doll or punching bag, eh? After all, what is a Templar without an Anders to vent out sadistic-" A knee cap to the face was par for the coarse, but several blows to the face, against the metal edge of the bed, was miniscule in comparison to what a high ranking officer did on a regular basis to a rebellious bastard like Anders. Still the Templar seemed proud of himself, and purposefully stepped on Anders knuckles when he walked away. Crackling noises under the steel signified breaks, and the responding pain that shot upward gave Anders warning that he shouldn't continue his venture. Anders usually didn't listen, but he was tired tonight...

He lay there for a few minutes before dragging himself, with the working hand, up to the confines of his bed. "Tranquil." He wanted to spit into the darkness...but there was no longer a Templar to spit at. Instead he focused his energies, and last remaining mana, on fixing his broken palms - and healing his wounds. When he was finished, Anders cracked his knuckles in a circular motion of an ever painful palm. "Tranquil, he said. The day I am chosen to be tranquil is the day I stop being a Mage and go into belly dancing. And as hot as some may find my beautiful frame, I highly doubt I'd ever get that desperate..." Ser Pounce-A-Lot was staring at him from the edge of the bed, and as if on cue he jumped down right during the sound that followed. There was a creaking of a bed frame - followed shortly by a groan. There were usually these noises, but generally in a repetitive nature.

This was one was different...this...wasn't the usual type of sound you'd expect in the circle...

This wasn't even the calling card of someone dealing with fade induced nightmares.

Anders quickly realized the bed was Dorian's and upon closer inspection, merely out of curiosity's sake, he found Dorian with a pale looking skin tone. Normally the male was tanned, even for being trapped inside all day with very brief portions of sunlight that peaked in through the one or two windows in the entirely shut-off building. Anders recognized a sickness when he saw it, and placed his hand down upon his friend's shoulder. Dorian stirred, but waved his hand like he was trying to get Anders to step away from his plight. The illness seemed to pale Dorian sickly, causing a severe rasp of his breath along with a cold shock to his skin. This seemed like a fatal disease or illness...Anders felt helpless either way however, and that was because he didn't have any mana potions...plus he was fresh out of his natural mana reserve, having used it on himself to heal his own injuries.

Not to mention he was the only damned Spirit Healer in the entire Circle.

Oh, and on top of every other wonderful thing about the situation...if the Templars found out about Dorian's sudden, and unprecedented, affliction they would probably claim him a Blood Mage and claim it was caused by the 'dangerous art thereof'. They would either make him a tranquil or (more likely) kill him......and they would claim proof as a result of the fact that Dorian was from Minrathous...Tevinter.

Anders searched for a solution, and remembered shortly that the Temps had some Lyrium amongst their reserved stores. It was kept and guarded by a group of tranquil, and the only ones who could access that reserve were Senior Enchanters, Commanding Templars, and the First Enchanter himself.

Or those who had written consent there-in.

Anders knew he would either have to get permission, within the next few hours, or steal the blighted substance. Being an apprentice, getting permission to do so without alerting the Temps, was almost out of the question. So it was up to him and - perhaps his faithful companions - to do so quietly. Setting out without a heading was usually the first doom for a pirate, and setting out without a plan for a man with a mission was similarly placed in that regard...

But the time was not to plan, and certainly not to let Dorian die (if it was as lethal as it looked).

Anders shook Mordred awake as soon as his feet made it to the side of his bed across the room. "Wakey, wakey, eggs and happy elf bakey..."

"I'm a vegetarian...you know that...besides - the Templars would never give us something so precious..." The elf grumbled, rolling over in his golden thin blanket without a second thought to Anders reasoning behind waking him up so early. "Now go away, Anders - it's to early to be doing things...wait until tomorrow night, when I have the energy, before we get faced or end up in bed again..."

Anders exasperatedly sighed, "Wakey, wakey vegetables and grumpy elf full of sadness..." He tried again, shaking Mordred mildly more violently on this try.

"What do you want?!" Mordred groaned while throwing his flexor arm muscles in front of his eyes, like a man with a hang over trying to block out light. There was hardly any besides the dim illumination projected by the small fire, so this made the gesture impractical.

"Dorian is severely sick, and I'm all out of Mana to help him in his malady." Anders said with an irritated tick of his jaw.

Mordred's eyes shot open with a similar act to a double take, "What?" He sat up, suddenly energized by the new revelation.

Anders exasperatedly repeated the same statement, this time going at the rate of speaking directly to a three year old child. "Dorian. Ill. We need to grab Garrett. Come on, get on your robes and move."

"But what about-"

"If we hurry, Mordy - He'll manage himself fine." The affectionately friendly name rolled off his tongue as if they didn't fuck every few nights. Yes they engaged, but they were friends with benefits if anything...as they didn't have any kind of mutual attraction beyond their body's needs.

"At least tell me the pla-AN-" He was barely inside the robe when Anders pulled the elf around the corner and out into the dark hall beyond.

 

* * *

 

"Maker's breath, Garrett if you don't open up-"

"Sweet Maker, what in the-"

"Robes. Move. Garrett. And don't be detracted from the task at hand - by my very distracting body for once - just move your hot little ass into the robes, set out, and listen good." Garrett was so tired, and very flustered by Anders' points of direction he missed the 'hot little ass' portion of the statement. Anders continued as if he hadn't plowed directly into something like that. "Dorian is severely sick. From what I don't know, but I didn't worry about consequently staying and finding out..." He gave pause. "Lest I miss the time we need to get Lyrium."

"Maker-"

"By the gods-"

"Anders, is this what you're thinking of doing? Stealing Lyrium?" Garrett would have been quick to catch onto Anders' vague plans regardless of whether he spoke the obvious facts one moment ago or not. If he would have even made mention of collecting himself, or made an idle statement on Lyrium...he would have known easily.

"And what else do you propose? Leaving him to the mercy of **_our ever_** grateful hosts? Letting him die when we have the chance to save him?"

"No-"

"Good." Anders didn't give him another word in edgewise, "-then we're in agreement. Get your blighted robes on before I am distracted enough by your chest to lose track of our task." His ability to shift gears so quickly made Garrett want to scream at times. Not to mention, what Garrett thought was, his shallow flirting...

 

* * *

 

 

It was a flurry of questions unanswered, and the plan wasn’t that good. Anders would gladly volunteer any excuse to get on the Temps nerves, so it was probably his own making that the scheme was of lose make. Then again, he tried not to endanger others when push came to shove…particularly Garrett’s hide…

Anders was capable of better though, so it was likely to conclude (based around various evidence) that he was losing all sanity.

And this was why…

Garrett was to distract the Tranquil by secretly setting a fire in a distinct area not far away. Mordred was to rush up and tell them, causing attention to be taken and a flurry to ensue while the tranquil were forced to garner someone or something in order to extinguish it, for they had no magic to aid them. While the hustle-and-bustle of the fire was raging, Anders would run in and try to steal the Lyrium right under their emotionless noses…

Not a steel trapped plan, and not the most safe…

But Anders told Garrett to make sure and be careful with how he pulled his acts of arson,  _Don't endanger to many lives, Garrett. Just keep the collateral damage to a base level of us getting killed by the Templars if not the Tranquil or the Senior Enchanters._

Not that Anders need worry.

Garrett rarely went out of his way to endanger lives, so it was entirely possible he would hide inside a closet and endanger his own just to keep the fire under control.

Which Anders would disapprove of just as much…but Garrett was just as valiant, when faced with a danger to innocent lives, as Anders was war mongering, with the barbarous Templars. Even if Anders had his tender and seraphic moments as a Spirit Healer, his violent nature in return to the Temps was just about as endearing as a man sicking his Mabari, unprovoked, on an innocent bystander walking down the street.

None-the-less, they had little choice in the matter, for they didn’t know when Dorian had gotten it and why it was such a ferocious disease so fast. It must have been only days since he disappeared for having stood up for Minrathous, in the face of the Templars. Anders had been so inspired by his friend’s courage to stand up for his homeland, he too had joined – even though he hardly knew anything about the Imperium.

So they must have given it to him…

Anders felt, in his stomach, that this couldn’t be a co-incidence. The Templars gave him a disease as torture…

But then Anders’ mind manifested itself at the worst possibility. He’d gone through it before…

The Temps often called it the ‘Chemical Reformation’ in private. Few knew of this, but Anders had managed to survive due to his natural health, rarely breakable mind, and Spirit Healing capabilities. He never spoke of it again, because it was too brutal to think about.

What happened, was they would put a magical shield around themselves using their nullification powers while they carefully used tongs to drag out a piece of raw Lyrium.

Usually the mage had one of two things happen, even if he did survive…

He or she’d go insane…

…or catch a terminal illness…

Anders only managed to save his self because of his natural healing capabilities. But Dorian…he was a necromancer, and as such he couldn’t raise the dead to heal him…

Or to help him through the torture…

No, they had a chance to save him. He hadn’t gone through the Chemical Reformation, and Anders just had to believe that.

They could save him.

They _WOULD_ save him.

Mordred came running in on cue, looking perfectly frantic and directed them towards the hall that led down to where the fire was flickering, casting strong shadows against the walls as it swallowed an entire box whole…

Garrett came rushing around the other side, apparently having decided not to stay behind while his friends were sticking out their necks. “Your feeble plan worked, Anders. Now move before they come back.”

“Feeble? It at least had a 12% chance of success rate.” Anders said with a grin.

“Move, Anders.” Garrett apparently was in the serious mood, today.

Anders did without protest, making it to the Lyrium contained inside the boxes. “Wow.” He said with awe when opening the lid. The boxes were wooden, crafted carefully with a metallic protection on the inside so as to keep the Lyrium from driving someone insane trying not to go for it. It wasn’t hard to tell which ones contained it for they glowed brilliantly, with a blue light that called out like a beacon. You weren’t supposed to touch the Lyrium directly, so Anders had to convert the energy into his system by magical means.

“Ok, do what you need to and let’s get out…this is getting creepy…” Mordred said out of the blue, eyes glancing this way and that. He looked concerned, his pale mien similar to a man who felt someone’s invisible hand on his or her shoulder.

Anders looked transfixed, eyes growing spacious as if he was beholding the last astonishing and glorious griffon in its peak of health. Anders’ pupils dilated, growing wider along with his saucer spaced eyes, his hazel iris disappearing slowly the more it spanned outward.

“Anders…” Garrett warned, unsure what was wrong with the other mage. He knew something felt wrong about the place they were. He felt the veil slipping against his fingers, the feeling more precarious than a man with a knife trying not to cut a wet piece of golden parchment. “Anders!” He spoke, more pronounced this time in his attempt to garner his mental faculty. His voice must have shifted up a few octaves, making it travel farther and faster with the speed of sound. Voices hushed near-by down the hall, making them suspect that they’d heard Garrett. “Come on, Anders – do what you need to do!” He shook his shoulders, but Anders acted like nobody was home.

As if Anders was vacant of all cognitive awareness, his mind completely vacant of his own incentive (and now he was now a puppet), he slowly reached out with his palm towards the Lyrium. He acted completely possessed, the movement all but mechanical as his fingers began stretching to the tips of the blue aura.

“NO AND-“ Garrett didn’t know what happened, for one minute he was reaching out to his friend’s palm in an attempt to pull him back, and the next he was whirling through what seemed to be a tube of mana. Something shifted inside him, like he was being dragged out of something slimy host…

Somewhere, far beyond his cognition, he felt something fall into a comatose state of being.

 

* * *

 

 

Bright skies with fantastic sands greeted his palms, and wasn’t that strange. The dark haired male’s head was hurting, and he couldn’t remember much of anything. It was as if he’d been beaten over the head several times in response to knocking over a giant rock from a mountain.

“Hawke! Get. Up. Or do I have to hit you with my great sword’s pummel again just to get you moving?” He was pushed on the shoulder by Carver, his irritated face showing itself in his line of vision just as an injury to insult.

“Carver!” Bethany’s voice responded behind the warrior, and as a swing of wooden staff came down upon the other warningly she spoke. “Leave him alone, he’s had a long day. He deserves a good rest.”

He didn’t know how he could live with Carver, if it weren’t for Bethany, at points in his life. “No, he’s right, Beth. I should get moving.” He sat up, pushing Carver away as he stood himself to a vertical level. Something internally told him this didn’t feel right, but he ignored it. It was probably because the Templars were hot on their tale as apostates. “Where’s father?”

Malcolm came around just at that time, “Andel Malcolm Hawke, are you sleeping _again_?” He said with an amused expression. “One of these days kid, you’re going to sleep so much you’ll begin sleep walking with us rather than actually walking with us.”

Andel’s lip lifted up in a curl, “At least I’ll be sleep walking rather than sleep rolling. I don’t think Carver could walk with me doing so without tripping over me every five seconds. You know how it is father, his warrior balance just isn’t as good as our mage balance.” He said despite his uneasy feeling that something was out of place.

Malcolm let out a chuckle and turned away, “Come, your mother has made us and your guest, Anders, food.”

 _Anders_. The name caused a disruption in his subconscious mind…

But he couldn’t place why.

“Anders is here?”

“Like you should be surprised, idiot. He’s almost always here.” Carver grumbled.

“Carver, be nice to him.” Bethany winked at Hawke with a giggle. “I think it’s cute.”

“You would.” Carver retorted to his twin with another eye roll.

Hawke registered vaguely the events prior, but they seemed hazy and unnatural. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why Anders was here, or why they accorded themselves this way. For the most part, it was like trying to focus on a dream that you woke up from and immediately forgot. His fore finger and middle finger shifted around in circles irritably, like he had a horrible headache.

“Something wrong, brother?” Bethany’s voice resonated vaguely.

“No. No, nothing.” He smiled back at her for a second, and then turned back around with a slight internal frown. He didn’t let it show on his face when they turned, in a disorganized line, towards the circle of logs where Anders had placed himself sometime prior with a tender smile on his face. His expression was direct, open, calm, and familiar…it was as if he’d been here like this a lot…and was comfortable with the typical routine.

He was about to sit down next to Bethany, but Carver settled into it and Bethany jerked her head towards Anders as if she disapproved at his attempt to sit anywhere but beside him.

Andel tried not to raise an eyebrow, but as directed he sat down next to Anders without question.

Anders leaned against him, and Andel Hawke’s body responded by going completely ridged for a moment. Anders palm reached out to comfortingly rub Andel’s bicep, as if understanding of the reaction – as if trying to calm him and reassure him. Andel couldn’t remember why his body responded this way, but it did…

Carver scoffed across the fire, lip curling upward while he made an obscene gesture of a person (possibly one of the two cuddling across the way) jerking, an air-made version, of a male copulatory organ in the lower anatomy.

On the contrary, Bethany’s eyes were sparkling like she was watching the most adorable Mabari puppy take it’s first few steps in its new world.

But the fact remained that it was a bitter crime against Hawke and Anders, little did they know…

 

* * *

 

Mordred’s eyes opened, much to his surprise, within the confines of his clan’s reach. As the keeper’s first, his life here was once like a dream…

He learned everything about his people and their ways, his life transforming from the ignorance of youth into the knowledgeable glory of one so wise. He had always respected his keeper…

As he stood, he looked out across his clan, and a bitter sense of pain washed over him like he was drowning asunder inside the ocean, dividing Fereldan and the free marches, coughing amongst the waves of agony. Long grass waved like the depths of his hazy mind as he pushed himself onto his feet, and upright, eyes scanning the vicinity of camp. Familiar faces of all kinds shifted through back and forth through the camp, several children chasing each other with giggles that filled the air. The sound was as bright as the sunlight shining through the mantis green overgrowth. Mordred’s eyes brighter than they had been in a while, showing the glorious glassy blue gems that sparkled like something from a prepossessing dream.

Mordred felt at home again, a bittersweet feeling that he recognized all to well as the fade trying to give him a sense of belonging. Being someone who had walked the fade many times before, he recognized the tricks therein of this particular side’s enhabitance. He pushed his brain to remember how he got here in his little piece of the fade. Bits were there, but as long as he was here, he would never remember the entirety of the truth…

“Aneth ara, Lethallin!” His childhood friend came bounding up, so accurate in the bright way he always used to that Mordred’s heart about broke. It felt like he stood there before him with that goofy grin on his face, as if it were yesterday. Green eyes warmed Mordred’s heart, even as it made his heart ache, causing a reminder of all he lost. The golden hair was long as it used to be, and it felt as though the elven familiar stood before him…his friend.

 _No…this here is a dream_ , Mordred reminded himself with sorrow embedded inside his veins. _This is a dream, a very beautiful dream…and one I, if I had such a choice, would wish to stay in, but no matter how tempting – I must remain strong and eventually break free of whatever may have a hold of me._ “Sleep well?”

Mordred smiled, even though something told him he didn’t have time to stay here lest the Templars cut and slice him from the mere fear of the Apprentice breaking free as an abomination, he would try to return at any cost, “Aneth ara, Solastan. It’s good to see you so cheerful, as always.”

“If I weren’t, who would be here? I mean, by the dread wolf, even you seem to be in a mood sometimes.” His smile was contagious, just like the real Solastan.

Mordred felt his mind haze, but he fought back against it like a man fighting a mist with only a simple lantern. “Don’t jinx the name, Solastan. It’ll probably drag him here.” He said idly.

“If it does, it’d be an improvement to the mood the Clan has been in, lately.” He sighed, “Hey – but I’m sure it’ll be better when you return. I’m just glad you’ve awoken from the dreadful sickness you’d fallen unto. Man, you don’t know how glad, Lethallin-“

“Let me guess, nobody listened to your jokes while I was away?” Mordred’s guard was slipping, the conversation to familiar for him not to laugh, pain bubbling inside his heart all the while. All of this was to bitter a pill for him not try to cope by pretending it wasn’t there, that all of this was real…

And perhaps the demon or spirit residing here knew that when he set up his little world.

“But don’t let me keep you tied here,“ How ironic of him, “you have other things to do, right?” His face fell a little.

Mordred’s lip twitched, if this was the fade, whatever was residing was doing a marvelous job of making it seem like a normal day. The usual spirits (Desire Demons and Sloth Demons) would make the world seem to revolve around the person in question. This was different…this was like a devious force was keeping him in a real version of his ideal place. If this fade was to be broken he had to do it quickly, for he feared a blade at his throat…but then maybe they would be worse than that. Perhaps they would take apart his limbs, or crack his bones one by one, perhaps burn him to death, or maybe all the above…who really knew?

Then he thought of his friends in the realization he was being to self-centered in his long list of worries and concerns.

Hawke and Anders…

He needed to find him, for Anders and Hawke would get it worse just because of their track record. Suddenly those thoughts only gave Mordred fear, and more of an incentive to fight harder. The metaphorical lantern holding off the mists of the fade became stronger within his mind. “Alright, spirit. I don’t know what sick game you’re playing, but it needs to end now.”

 _Solastan_ tilted his head, “Me? A spirit? Did that infection get down your ears, Mahonan?”

Mordred’s Dalish name made his stomach gurgle and snap like a boiling chain in lava. Cold dread settled into his mind…bringing back all the memories of the darker portions in his youth in a rush, as well as him asking Dorian and Anders to find a spell that contained the battle with the Templars, the destruction of his home, and the death of his friends…

He’d asked them to contain his name, flushing it from his mind and creating a new version. Mordred he’d asked them to call him…

He’d told them never to speak of his name…

Mahonan was no more.

And Mordred was to take the place…

He told them to make it seem as though he didn’t have a hand in his Clan’s fall, instead replacing it with memories of how they’d accidentally ran into the Templars by incident. Mordred hunched over onto his knees, grasping at his head as the memories flowed in a rush. The feeling is unlike anyone could describe…

It was like he was reliving someone else’s life. It was like his…but more twisted…

The fake Solastan’s voice was drown out as Mordred cried from pain…

For the reasoning behind his name also came to him, spitting out like Wyvern’s venom at the end…as if to burn the already re-opened wound. Mordred’s name came from a human tale, one about a king who was betrayed by his son. Mordred was the traitor, and the King’s name rested within the depths of Mordred’s mind.

Mahonan’s mind…

_It’s my fault. And now they’ve betrayed me too._

When Mahonan looked up, nobody was there, and he sat on a hill overlooking the true face of the fade…

The black city stretched across the horizon, ominous as a shadow cast upon a dark night filled with undead and darkspawn. The revelation had caused his captor to let go of him, perhaps by the span of energy crackling from Mordred’s new found demeanor, or perhaps from the fact that it completed the task he’d been put through. One way or another, Mordred didn’t care to find out…

For he knew he must find his friends. That was all that mattered in this whole bad ending, and new beginning, to this terrible situation. Mordred would do anything for his friends...

Even if it meant sacrificing his own life to get them out of a tough spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Immortal FanFiction playlist:
> 
> 1\. My Immortal (Evanescence)  
> 2\. Wake Me Up When September Ends (Green Day)  
> 3\. Iridescent (Linkin park)  
> 4\. The Catalyst (Linkin Park)  
> 5\. Boulevard of Broken Dreams (Green Day)  
> 6\. Save Me Once Again (The Rasmus)  
> 7\. Leave Out All the Rest (Linkin Park)  
> 8\. Lost Cause (Imagine Dragons)  
> 9\. Under the Bridge (Red Hot Chili Peppers)  
> 10\. We're in This Together (Nine Inch Nails)  
> 11\. Deep (Nine Inch Nails)  
> 12\. Without You (Breaking Benjamin)  
> 13\. Falling Inside the Black (Skillet)  
> 14\. Never to Late (Three Days Grace)  
> 15\. Somewhere I Belong (Linkin Park)  
> 16\. My Fault (Imagine Dragons)
> 
> My personal fav is Never To Late. It particularly sums up views on both sides later on in the story.


	4. Templar's Stone

It was a simplistic notion Mahonan had learned: Step out of the portal. Step into the next plane. Let's not question this shit.

Still, after all the battles he had to endure, Mahonan still approached the sight of his friends with a wide-eyed expression…

Anders and Garrett were standing around a circle along with several other people who looked exactly like Garrett. This…

This must be his family.

Mahonan’s throat swallowed with difficulty…for this was going to be hard and awkward. He’d heard of these experiences before, where the fade traps certain people inside it with a demon residing right over. Often it would seem beautiful and real, just like the person in question always dreamed it would be…their perfect life.

Anders’ head turned, and he waved over.

Garrett looked and smiled, the same high wave imitated. “Mordred!” He used his favored name, making Mahonan want to shrink from the reality of his deeds.

He’d have to ask Anders to whip his memory again when they exited this. Dorian was better at it…

…but Anders would still be able to do it.

Mahonan flinched at his best friend’s name in context. He sped up a little, determined to get this over with.

“Mordy!” Anders came bounding towards him, “I get forty silvers because of you showing your face here. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away, Mordy. I told you, you’d fall victim you our charm and social wit sooner or later. Come, come – sit down – Andel’s mother just made us soup.”

Garrett nodded, and Mordred’s eyes widened…

He felt bad, intruding on this private notion. Garrett never wanted his name to be revealed, and now here it was on a silver platter before him. Still, to Mordred, he was still Garrett. “Right…” Mordred said, “Hey, Ga…Andel, Anders-“ The name sounded to foreign to his tongue, it just wasn’t Garrett…and he wasn’t Mahonan, was he? So he should stop thinking himself as such. Their lives there were gone…and as much as he was tempted to leave his friends here, away from the Templars and joyful about their existences forever…just like his…it had to end. Reality had to come to call, because you can’t live in a fantasy forever…no matter how much you wanted to. Fantasy has it’s place – preferably in the bedroom and in entertainment areas such as stories, and nobody should take that away…but even the writers know when to put that life down and move on to life…

If you live in a fantasy forever, as beautiful as it would be, you would allow life to pass by you – and all the possibilities there-in. It was a hard lesson…

And as soon as he thought the words, Mordred flinched…

Was the name ‘Mordred’ a fantasy as well?

Garrett?

Anders?

Or was it just considered a new life?

Where was the fucking line?

“Yeah, Mordy?” Anders said cheerfully.

Mordred hasn’t seen him this happy in all the time he’d known him. Mordred wanted to burst down into tears from the harsh thing he was going to do to them. If only he could give them a few more minutes…

No. They didn’t have that time.

At any minute…the Temps could slice open their throats…

Or Dorians.

The resolve came back, for the reasoning behind his actions was clear to him again. “Anders, Andel…just a moment of your time, please.”

“Are you taking a moment of our time to tell us about the Maker? Or one of your elven gods, perhaps?” Garrett…Andel - gave his usual cheek.

 _At least he hadn’t lost that, here._ Mordred smiled gratefully…but it hit him that he probably had more reason to be happy and cheeky in this carefree world. “Just a second, I need to borrow you for just a moment is all.” He persuaded them to come with him reluctantly, and even though he knew he couldn’t outrun those in the fade he managed to get them to a safe distance away. If push came to shove…he’d just fight the demons standing across the way. As soon as he did, Mordred’s face went from ‘happy happy joy joy’ to ‘no fucking with you’. “Anders – Ande…no, Garrett. Think about things here. You are not where you’re supposed to be. Look at me, Dorian is sick – we were in the circle getting Lyrium and then we were sent into the fade.”

“What?” Anders eyebrow furrowed, “Are you feeling alright, Mordy? And who’s Garrett?”

“I think he’s gone mad, perhaps. All that running around in the wild…and frolicking.”

“I’ve told you before, Dalish do not frolic – ah! By the Dread Wolf, Don’t get me off topic…” He grew serious again, “Andel – your…your name is Andel, but not in the real world. You’ve accepted the name Garrett…and Anders, you named him that way. This is NOT THE REAL WORLD! THIS IS THE FADE! Think!” His exasperated and worried voice pushed through his friends’ thoughts.

“I…” Anders rubbed his head, “I don’t know maybe…”

“Boys! Soup!” The presumable demon who was acting as Garrett’s mother came towards them, “You don’t want it to get cold do you?”

“Stay back, Demon!” Mordred said, lighting his hands with fire, “You will not trick my companions anymore!”

It didn’t matter what came next, the creature revealed it’s true nature and attacked Mordred. Demons had one major flaw…if threatened; they would attack…no matter the situation.

The demon came for Mordred, raising great fiery palms and slashing down over Mordred’s body. Scorch marks and blood combined for pain on the elf’s side, but at least it snapped Garrett and Anders out of their trance.

Mordred’s feet kicked off, rushing from the Demon in a flurry as the rest swarmed the area they were in. Mordred pushed out his hands and used a glyph of paralyses long enough for him to escape while running. He turned when at a safe distance and pulled up his hands to summon a barrage of flames that fell from the sky and slammed down upon the creatures around.

Anders called upon a fireball to blast the demon nearest Garrett and then immediately followed up with a mind-blast to send back the demon about to attack him.

Garrett responded with a show of gratitude to Anders, pushing out his hand in the healer’s direction and sending out the only protective ward, he knew, to protect Anders. Anders smiled appreciatively in return for a split second, to let the other know he appreciated the effort one way or another.

Demon’s claws woke Anders up though, and the blonde quickly turned back with the stupidest stunt he’d ever done in his life.

He punched the demon right on – what passes for – it’s face…

It seemed that whatever devastating attack that Mordred had previously given the fuckin’ thing combined with…whatever menial damage Anders did – had killed it.

“ANDERS! Bad Ass!” Garrett said with a flick of his hands. He focused on the next target with a bout of laughter. It was ragged, and Anders could tell he was hurting bad now.

“I helped!” Mordred yelled up on the hill, “Actually – I did most of it!”

“Yeah, yeah, Mordy! But you weren’t the one to finish a demon with a punch straight to the fucking face!” Garrett chortled, still finding the cheek despite his injuries.

Anders cast a healing spell on Garrett, running immediately out of mana. “I’m out of mana!” He called.

It didn’t matter much, because the second he said it Mordred’s lightning bolt sent the Demon right back to whatever place it came from.

They fell into ragged pants.

Garrett, the best looking out of all, stepped towards Anders with a smirk, “Well don’t you look positively…” His lips twisted, “…Red?”

“Is that supposed to pass for a compliment, Garrett? We really MUST work on that.”

Mordred came to a halt beside them, “Not to break up the beautiful moment, turtle doves, but we better get our asses hauling like an Areval if we’re going to make it out of here with our throats in tact. Unless you like your blood rushing down your chest while your spirits trapped in the fade.”

“You’re always such a mood-setter, Mordy.” Anders chuckled nonchalantly, pretending to make idle banter.

Hawke and Anders weren’t together, not by a long shot, but that didn’t mean they were ignorant of the attraction there. Everybody knew how the two danced around the issue. Mordred, who’d become the third wheel, and Dorian, who’d become the one trying to get them to get together, especially knew the nature of the attraction…

That said…Mordred wasn’t going to push them into it…he knew their reasoning’s for dancing around each other’s attraction to the other.

Garrett’s strange avoidance of any sexual contact was one reason.

The other was that word spread quickly through the Circle – and when gossip began, the Templars stopped pretending not to care. They loved making the mages suffer…

And love would be the perfect excuse to take two in and make them watch each other die just for the sheer sadistic amusement of it. The mages had to be careful of their pleasure taken in this particular piece of hell…

Mordred stretched out his arms and cracked his neck; “I’ll set the mood with velvet, rose petals, black candle lights, and an sign on the floor that says ‘come hither’ later. Right, now, I’ll be happy just to get out of the fade and into reality…”

Garrett grew serious, “Yes, despite his typically crude descriptions, Mordred is right. We need to begin the trek back. Well, Mordred, since you’ve taken initiative – lead on.”

Mordred nodded, and then turned towards the path ahead while delving into the story on how he came to find them.

 

* * *

 

 

They went through several different pathways, and portals, before Mordred huffed. “I never thought about the fact that this wasn’t so simple.”

“You should have stopped for directions.” Anders teased jovially, and then made a fake scoff. “Elves.”

Mordred snorted, “Pfft. You shemlen are all the same, don’t you know that you can’t just ‘assssk’ for directions unless you have to have somebody there to ask?!”

Garrett piped up at this point. “We could ask this nice weirdly colored bush.” He leaned down, “Hello, your thorns are looking particularly nice today, do you mind sharing the way out with us?”

This made Mordred laugh again, “He doesn’t want to talk to you, Garrett. You’re to…Garrett-ey.”

“Well that’s…an Insult…?”

“My supply is running low. I’ll have to fill back up when we get back to the Hell of Magi.”

“OH! That’s a good one! I’ve got to write that down…” Anders pitched in, but they were – for all intents and purposes – currently lost.

“Alright, if you think you can do much better Garrett, then you go ahead.” Mordred presented the leadership role, and Garrett much obliged, taking the path to the left.

 

* * *

 

 

“I blame you for this.” Were the words Anders spoke to Garrett as they clung from a small gray tree. The area was typical for the fade, but at the same time, was directly in view of the Black City. Garrett had led them down a road in the fade that had some kind of magical illusion bent into it…now Garrett and Anders were both hanging off the edge of a very large…and rather dangerous fall.

“I don’t even know how you navigated yourselves that far off the beaten path.” Mordred said as he climbed further towards them. “Seriously, I turn around for two seconds and you two decided to go hang out?”

“Oh, ha, ha.” Was the united, and unamused, consensus between the two humans.

“Hey, at least it’s good real estate. You get a direct view of the Black City.” Mordred reached out his hand. “One at a time now.” He said, as if that wasn’t obvious. After he’d pulled Hawke up, he began leading him back. “Just hang on Anders.”

“OH HA HA!” Anders mimicked louder, and then huffed gruffly, “Very. Fucking. Funny. I’ll just stay here…and hope I don’t die.”

When they were both safely on the ground…or what passes for the ground in the fade…Mordred suggested, “You want to try your hand, Anders? Or should I go back to leading?”

“I’d put my hands in your life faster than Garrett’s at this point.” Anders said with a shrug.

“HEY!” Garrett punched him in the shoulder.

Anders just smirked.

For something that was grim, they were surprisingly having a good time doing it.

 

* * *

 

 

Mordred finally found another portal, and they took it with relief. It transported them to a fascinating but grim looking landscape with a Desire Demon floating in the air before them.

“You are not good pets…” She hissed.

“We’ve been told that before.” Anders huffed, “We don’t much like being held captive.”

 _The words were ironic enough._ Garrett concluded. “Well then, Demon…are we here to talk, or to fight?”

“Are you so sure you want to do so…?” She said in that high and serpentine tone Desire Demons had. Her tail flickered, long purple body shifting in mid air. “You should think about what I have to offer? What say you…elf? Would you deny your friends freedom?”

Mordred blinked, looking tempted for a minute.

Taking up on his precarious indecision, the Desire Demon continued. “All you want is for your friends to be free…stay here with me…and let them walk…I’ll take your soul, for your friends…” Her eyes darkened with delight at his temptation. “It is a rather lenient deal, yes? One soul for two?”

“Mordy…” Garrett warned.

Mordred blinked, swallowing like he had sand in his saliva.

“No!” Anders said, and sent out an electric blast to disrupt the Demon’s smug expression. He didn’t want his friend falling victim to temptation, no matter the honorable intentions. The intentions never mattered when it was a deal with a demon; the reality was that it was transformed into a sinister ending.

“Foolish, mortal!”

The mages stormed the field, Mordred right next to them once he was broken from the possibility. The stench of burning demon filled the air when Garrett’s blast seared the flesh off of her neck. She gave out a mixed howl of rage and pain before getting him right back with some kind of drain life spell. Garrett lifted up in the air whilst Anders used a healing spell on Mordred who was hurting badly. Legs pounding Mordred came within range of the Desire Demon and blasted her with an electric blast.

Anders focused on healing and getting in a blast every now and again while the others mostly did the offensive work.

When Garrett was freed he charged, switching up with an inferno spell, the swirling column of flame catching Mordred and causing him to flinch brutally, skin heating up with a black twinge. “OW! STILL OVER HERE!” Mordred managed through the rapid oxidation.

He didn’t waste time complaining however, despite his discomfort on the matter. The pain was searing, but he focused on the demon first and foremost. Letting out a blast of cold, perhaps in an attempt to cause the Demon’s thermoregulation to malfunction (if there was such a thing in it). This could cause serious damage to anything that has that in it’s body, perhaps even death.

But the Demon shrugged it off, casting some kind of magical blast that sent him flying back.

Casting a weakness spell on Anders, she switched her attention back to Garrett whom had just gotten out of her drain life spell. She was before him in an instant, casting the same spell Mordred used against her earlier. The powerful shock spell sent Garrett into a writhing state with a shutter. Mordred used electricity in his magic quite frequently, he knew the power of those spells and knew that Garrett must be in agony.

Mordred quickly struggled to his feet and sent out an unusual trick for him, for he didn’t normally use earth-tree spells, but this time – he did. His intention was clear – get her attention. He did so beautifully, for when the stone fist caused her to fall down, they got the upper hand all at once.

Mordred called out a smart plan for them quickly, “CAST AN OFFENSIVE SPELL ALL AT ONCE, QUICK WHILE SHE’S DOWN!” He spoke quickly, but not so fast as for them to not understand. The blast was powerful, for one mage could be – but three on one target?

If the maker did throw the tevens down…

It was merciful compared to that combination move.

In fact, the blast was so powerful – the combined primal spells (one electric blast, one feiry, and one ice) that it even backfired on the casters – sending them all in one direction.

They were sent off the side of the nearest cliff of the fade. Luckily, Garrett managed to clasp onto the tree, and in an act of fast acting heroism…he managed to reach out his palm, and catch both his friends in mid air while clinging onto the item for dear life.

The blast’s light faded, and Anders opened his eyes to witness his brave hero. Garrett kicked out his legs, managing to cling onto one of the lower branches and swing around to the top. He kept his hand out to hold them up all the while, before turning his attention downward. “I can’t hold the spell very long, I’m low on mana.”

“I can push myself up to you, if I can connect my magic to yours.” Anders said, and did so easily. He floated up, holding out his hand before his contact with Garrett’s arm was secure.

But Garrett still struggled, and then his mana flickered in and out, Mordred slipped in mid air for a moment until Anders reached out his palm downwards to help.

Mordred shuttered, and then it hit him hard. It hit him like a man standing beside a crumbling wall, bricks raining down harshly. “Let me go!”

“What?!” The humans’ eyes widened.

“You’ve got to get out of here…you’ve got to let me go…” Mordred’s eyes contacted their’s with both fear and a firm resolve.

“NO!” Another simultaneous response came to their elf friend.

“Your mana, even combined, isn’t enough to keep me floating for long…and then you two will be hardly strong enough to hold yourselves…you’ll be to tired, you must go…please…”

“You’ll die here…” Anders’ eyes pleaded Mordred to stop the notion.

“I’d rather sacrifice my safety so that you two can live…you deserve it…”

“No!” Garrett’s eyes filled with sorrow, “If we lose Dorian…if we can’t save him in reality…we’re not losing you too…”

“This is not an-“ Mordred couldn’t finish the notion for Garrett grunted, and after a cry Mordred slipped further in mid air, while the other mage’s hand shook on the branch sustaining them. “Look at your state, Garrett. This is not an argument we can have…” He smiled sadly.

“I’m not letting you go!” Garrett said stubbornly.

“No…I didn’t think you would…”

Then it was so, Mordred using the last of his Mana to reach out and use the only force magic he knew. Garrett and Anders went flying while Garrett’s magic fiend from the harsh blast. Anders and Garrett tangled up, landing from the hard blast.

There was a pause that left both breathless, but then Anders’ eyes jerked open.

Desperation, Greif, and Loss could do that to a person…

“No! NO!” Skidding to a halt like a horse being forced towards the edge of a cliff, Anders’ eyes flew back and forth wildly. Slowly, his eyes widened and fear trickled into his expression. “Mordy…” Head dipped, breath ragged, and arms wrapping around his frame – Anders’ breathed to keep the tears from falling as the harsh reality of his best friend’s death came to him like an anvil had just fallen on his head.

Garrett sat down behind him, his own eyes getting misty, “His soul is gone, now, Anders…it’ll never return to his body…” His voice cracked, showing the twisted agony from the brutal truth.

Garrett held out his arms, pulling the man he secretly loved, and his current friend into his body for comfort. The close contact would normally make him uncomfortable…

But right now?

He needed the close comfort just as much as Anders did…

Anders’ eyes squeezed shut with disbelief, just as a portal opened with a blue glow that caught their attention.

“Anders…we have to go…” Garrett said reluctantly.

“AND WHAT?!” He turned towards him with his lips curled, “We can’t leave withouth hi-“

“He’s gone Anders…and he wouldn’t want his sacrifice to be in vein…”

Anders’ head turned downwards, towards the place where he fell, and then slowly walked away. He clung to Garrett, worried that if he let go he may fall just as his friend did…but with fewer consequences.

 

* * *

 

 

Anders awoke with a sore head and a harsh memory of what occurred previously. He sat up groggily, feeling like drunkenness had overtaken his every shifting move with a lagging demeanor. It came back to him slowly.

Desire Demon.

Mordred’s…

Mordred’s Sacrifice…

Anders stood up and began to go towards him, but he stumbled and grabbed a hold of his bedpost. Ser-Pounce-A-Lot hissed, not liking the sudden movements of his master. Anders would normally apologize, but he wasn’t feeling the time, instead he let go of the post and rushed towards Dorian-

He wasn’t there.

Anders’ eyes widened…

Not both of them.

He felt to his knees, arms sprawled out on the bed before him. The bed still smelled of the male, the scents intertwining with the smell of Dorian’s favorite liquor. Anders’ head pushed into the sheets, tears streaking down his cheeks finally…

After all this time…

After all this suffering…

All the pain...

He finally shed tears…

And it was like the moment in one of Anders’ least favorite books of angst endings – wherein the character would fall before the body of their best friend who selfishly sacrificed themselves for the greater good…

Or the best friend did the same for the hero…

Well…

One thing was for certain in this horrible situation...

The Templars had finally done it…

They’d finally broken him.

 

* * *

 

 

Garrett knew he had to get back to Anders, when he first awoke in his chambers, because the apprentice was not in the mental state to be left alone. Yet it still didn’t prepare him for what greeted him in the chambers when he made it there…

He had peaked around for Anders worriedly when he noted that Anders wasn’t in his bed…

But when he saw Anders leaning over a vacated bed, at night when the Apprentices were expected to be sleeping…

It hit him it was Dorian’s…and then the reality hit him…

They didn’t save him.

Mordred’s sacrifice was in vein…

In a sense…

And Garrett knew exactly why Anders’ wept for the first time…

Because he felt it was his fault…

Garrett swallowed with a tight throat, coming towards his friend and repeating the same position they’d taken in the fade. He rubbed Anders’ shoulders, while he silently mewled. A whimper came from his throat, but Garrett just held him close, his own agony mingling to the air.

There was no body...

There were no bodies.

There was only solitude…

And Templars.

The Templars had killed two birds with one stone, and that probably gave them more pleasure than any torture method.

Hawke’s heart filled with grief, and hope left it’s depths…just as despair kicked in, a light caught his attention. As his head lifted, following synchronization with Anders’ movements…

Someone he didn’t expect stood before them, eyes filled with a spectral blue.

 


	5. Drowning Humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dog recently died, so I've been hurting. This short fluffy chapter is dedicated to him...
> 
> I love you, Corly...I will always remember you.

Mordred...

Couldn't be whole....could he?

He had died, died in the fade...so his essence should be trapped forever to wander - or worse...

But he wasn't? He was reasoning, beyond measure and had cognition in a...strange departed way. He was alive...or his essence was in tact at least...

But how?

He felt himself fall; he saw the horrified expressions on Garrett and Anders' expressions when he'd used the last bit of force magic left, in his weary state, to force them back onto the cliffs to safety. He remembered closing his ethereal eyes and picturing his mother's face, thinking his last thoughts would be of his youth...

He would picture the forests of Fereldan, near the Korcari Wilds. where he grew up. He remembered the scent of pine and leaves, the sound of streams, rivers, birds, and the crackling leaves under your feet. He remembered the sight of his mother's smiling face, a fleeting misty memory that was from a time long before he could walk. He remembered the hooves of Halla clopping down against the deep brown signature soil of Fereldan. 

Oh how he wished to run again...

Just one more time, he could be in that place, before he died...!

But then it snapped back, and it was like life being breathed into his aching form. His eyes opened, standing in the preface of tomorrow, the edge of night, the land of today. He stood in no place, and yet every place...

He stood on ground, with nothing visible there...

No acronyms or synonyms...no vocabulary, no measure of descriptions could allow insight into what he was there...

He could not see his body, but could feel his form...

He could not see anything, yet he could see everything...

It was ironies and symbolic notions again and again and again...winding like varying cogs in a never-ending mechanism...

There were no colors, and yet there were shades...

And not the demon kind, thank the Creators-

**_\- Your nobility is commendable, elf...but I will not allow this injustice, come to pass. -_ _  
_ **

It was a voice, seemingly out of nowhere and unexplained...

Mordred suddenly felt everything again; and then he awoke once more - an awakening - almost a re-birthing into something more...real.

He was standing in the apprentice's dorm, facing his two friends, but light was surrounding the place. An off colored blue light cast shadows, illuminated bed frames, and revealed the darker stains on the walls that stood on the other side of the color spectrum...

But why was there this magical energy surging through-out the area? Why were his friends looking at him with a mingled terror? So many questions surged through Mordred's hazy mind all at once, creating a sensation that was hardly different from someone ringing multiple gongs inside your head at once.

The brilliance faded, leaving him standing in the wake - and he spoke to his friends. "I thought-" But his voice was not his own at first, a sound like a rumbling mountain fading out into something similar to a healing spell ending registered in his dully ringing ears. He trailed off as soon as he said it, looking down at palms that were crackling with blue...and faded into normalcy. Horrified, he looked up at his friends, and he spoke only one word that carried across two bed-frames, "What?"

"We should be asking you the same-" Anders' voice barely made sense to Mordred's pointed ears, the sound a whisper among a rattling shard of glass. It was like trying to hold a cloth over your ear while water ran down it. It made a sense of distaste settle in you, caused an odd reaction emotionally, and sounded odd through the muffled cloth.

"And don't start with the whole coming back to life portion of the story...what was the whole - transporting out of thin air with the fade slimming and shifting around you - glowing bit?" Garrett inferred, eyes wide.

Mordred didn't know how to explain that he knew as much as they on this...

* * *

Anders sat next to Garrett, face to face with their...dead? No, very much alive, companion...but something wasn't right about him. He was different somehow - Anders could sense it, and somehow he had an ominous sensation whenever he thought back to his arrival. Mordred seemingly came out of thin air with his skin glowing and crackling like lightning. The coloration was like that of Lyrium, blue with an out-of-this-world look to it. His eyes were the worst thing of the new style flair; however, shimmering like if you were to look into the dark reaches of a potion. It was like taking the ocean and shrinking it down to size in his eyes - or taking two spiritual globes and pushing them into his eye-sockets.

No...

Anders couldn't dare believe that he might have brought something back with him...

_Nope._

_Nope._

_Happy thoughts, Anders - Happy thoughts...like kittens...a whole row of Ser Pounce-A-Lots dancing a Spicy Shimmy..._

Now that would be a sight.

Anders, Garrett, and Mordred were sitting in dead silence - the void like an rope that was coiling itself tighter and tighter around the mage's lungs...causing a lack of oxygen to flow freely through the room. It was like trying to mine Lyrium just attempting a conversation.

"You know-" Garrett started (Anders didn't fail to notice his uncomfortable expression, as if he was forcing something - perhaps anything to fly out of his lungs), "-It...it couldn't be all bad...maybe you just picked up amazing Lyrium powers? You could become...super...mage...?" The last syllable was a tad higher on the octave level than Garrett would have preferred, obviously. It brought out the insecurity he felt on the latter portion of his humor. Leave it to Garrett to make any situation, even a dire one, into a Joke. 

Anders let out a slow laugh, a rumble that acted as an alleviation tactic for the lingering tension. It felt like a balloon had just deflated, allowing a sense of ease to flow through the room once more after those minutes of silence. "Supermage? Do you want another shot at that one?" Anders' grin returned, even if there was a lingering sentiment of pain in his eyes.

"I...well...it sounded better in my head." He scratched his scruffy dark hair awkwardly, his expression scrunching up despite the smirk growing on his face.

"I suppose 'it's the thought that counts', eh?" Anders returned, his shoulders relaxing as if a sigh had left them.

There wasn't much else to say, there really wasn't - still things hung in the air like a feather over a kitten's head. It was there, it was noticeable, and it was the size of an Elephant.

 

* * *

 

 

_He stood on the precipice of what could be and what has been, and there was really no arguing with it. Anders' hands shook as he stitched up Garrett's shoulders. The beast of their enemies had, once again, faced them today with a snarling roar that seemingly splattered venom across their healing wounds._

_"I'd hoped you didn't need to see me like this...i'm so weak..." He said weakly, a small droplet of blood dripping its way down his cheek and smearing in his fine beard. Anders shook his head, not wanting Garrett to know how much it harmed him to see what those bastard Templars were doing._

_"No. You're never weak, you're the strongest mage I know..." He caught himself. That was the biggest compliment he'd ever paid anyone...ever._

_The egotistical slip made Garrett reach out and clasp the side of his face, a smile settling into spoken words. "I love-"_

_They were standing now, and a blade was being driven into Garrett's chest. Blood rushed down his chest, a sad smile on his face of goodbye as he fell - revealing Commander Ren behind him. Anders hated the man, and always would..._

_He had risen fast, for his sadistic pleasure and his forced tactics on mages...as well as Murder within the order._

_It just seemed that after someone took the position he wanted, they ended up dead fast, huh?_

_Ren smiled at him, cruel glee in his eyes as he spoke words that made Anders tremble, and his blood boil. "No Mage may have love, here, daft boy. You should have known this a long time ago...when your mother and father payed the price for their love and you."_

_"YOU BASTARD!" He struggled against ropes that bound him to invisible forces, unseen but stronger than he will ever be._

_"That's right...you are a Bastard...and you will remain that way, the rest of your miserable life." Ren transformed suddenly..._

_Into Dorian. **"You didn't save me."**_

_"I tried..." He called desperately, his voice filled with pain._

**_"You didn't save me."_ **

_"No...no you have to understand-"_

**_"No. YOU didn't save me. You left me to die. Just as you left_ HIM _to die."_ **

_"NO! That's not- I TRIED TO-!"_

_Suddenly he was in water, falling further and further into the depths - drowning asunder among a raging tide that had swept him into the depths. Voices swam in his head, changing and flickering from one to the next - faces swirling in the glistening and shimmering surface that seemed so far out of reach. He saw those he'd slept with just to pretend it was Garrett, Garrett's horrified face as he died, Dorian being manhandled by the Templars - being drug until he was thrown off a balcony into a increasing pile of dead mages, and the Templar's sneering faces looking down upon him supremely..._

_Words were spoken in the midst of it all: "You could have saved him." - "You make it worse for us." - "Why do you do this to yourself, Anders? Why do you do this to us?" - "Look at the Bastard now...not so big are we, you little motherless shit?"_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Panicked gasps were only one of Anders' anxiety symptoms when he awoke. Palms sweating, shaking body, eyes dull with fear, and a forehead that was sweating like crazy were some of the other varying reactions that he was having to the nightmare. He had had this one before...but not at this length...it never went past Garrett's death at Ren's hand. That being said, he was probably clouded up with previous events of the past few days. He couldn't believe how much had happened...

Dorian's death...

Mordred's return with a strange new aptitude...

And four months before that, Garrett had moved out of the Apprentice's quarters leaving the three alone to deal with the nightly goings on...

Anders calmed himself slowly, worrying quietly if he would be the next in line for a target. The Maker certainly had a sense of humor that way sometimes...

His worst fears were coming true - having almost lost two of his friends in one night...

He closed his eyes, remembering it would do no good to work himself up. Rolling over, he began his venture on - yet another - impulse. Even if his impulses hadn't gotten him very far last time, at least this wasn't an elaborate plan to escape the Templars...or steal Lyrium...

-or any other numerous plans he'd formed on the spot....

He looked like he'd seen a ghost, not that he technically hadn't if Mordred truly brought back something from the other side. 

Anders pulled on his robes, and left Ser Pounce-A-Lot in a dazed state of contempt for his sudden decision to move from a perfectly comfortable curled-up-with-him position. Pounce didn't look pleased, fur ruffled up wildly (almost like the state of Anders' hair), and eyes blinking with the pupils shrinking in aggressively.

Anders usually would tell Pounce to go under his bed, or hide in his clothes, but instead he just began walking. He walked all the way up to the Mage's tower, where those who passed their harrowing slept, and just went straight up to Garrett's door like he had so many times before - even during the few months he'd been in here. He lifted his hand slowly this time...but it lingered there as he realized what he was going to do.

He was really in a state of mood to confide in someone? I suppose...

He was right.

In his dream...

Despite his normal aptitude, quietly - although he'd never admit it - he did think of Garrett as the strongest Mage...Man...he knew. He would _ever_ know...

He slowly pressed his head to the door and halted, arms loosening against their positions, eyes closing as he let out a sad breath.

 _Love isn't an emotion you're supposed to have in the Circle. Love is a game...if the grass began to look green you'd tear out the page in your 'black book'. It gave the Templars to much power to know you had something you couldn't stand to lose._ Anders concluded the thought with a metaphorical stroke.

Yet, all the while, Anders couldn't help his emotions. He felt an obsession over Garrett; it was a protective edge that drove the blade of his soul and heart into a direct collision course with what he wanted and what he feared at the same time.

Sharply, and unexpectedly, the door opened - forcing him to come to a face to face with Garrett. "Ah-Anders-" He was surprised, and was geared up as if he was going to take one of his midnight strolls. It seemed that Anders wasn't the only one to decide on taking a break tonight. "I...what are you doing here? Do you know how much trouble you-"

Anders stepped inside the room and closed the door before Garrett could finish the sentence.

"-Get into? Ok-apparently...not? Or perhaps you're looking to do so...greeeeaaaat...like we need more trouble after previous events. Why am I the only one who's not completely insane and looking for craziness..." He rubbed his forehead in circles, that same signature 'I'm not getting paid enough for this' gesture that he often made when exasperated. After a few moments, Garrett blinked shortly and looked up at the silent companion, "You're not normally one for these kind of quiet stretches, Anders. Did something go wrong? Or did the Templars finally knock you silent? Oh my, that would be terrible...what must I ever do without my trusted friend who's mouth runs without brakes...Maker's Arse, I would cry myself to sleep without your constant blabbing, I swear-" He actually began to look worried at this point, "Sweet Maker, I'm seriously concerned now, you're not even responding to my banter. This is not good, not good at all...why am I the one talking and you're not?"

Anders didn't know what to say.  _I came here because I love you. - I came here because I need you_ now....

None of the above, was a good response...but silence was worse...

He opened his mouth, suddenly feeling a roll reversal coming on - and wanting to stop it before it continued. "It's not entirely because I want to. You know how it is, Garrett - I can't stand it when I'm not talking. I was waiting to catch a break, so that I may pick up and begin again...so that my amazing voice may not fall upon deaf ears!"

"It speaks!" He said, imitating Anders.

Anders laughed, tension removed as his alleviated expression transformed into one with soft eyes with a hooded tint to his nutmeg irises.

"Thank the Maker, I was beginning to worry about you, Anders..." He blinked then, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"After these days incidents, my-" _Lovable_ , "Likable Arsonist, that-" _Despite the little things about you that make me smile,_ "Although you may have your flaws: one being your borderline insensitivity to the fact that my alluring charm doesn't rub you the right way, as it should-"  _That I couldn't live without you,_ "That it would not do well to leave the night, without noting the simple fact that - despite how much people's eyes revert to me, as a result of my irresistible nature- " _That I need you_ , "That you do have your perks," _You're stunning_ **,** "-And I would...miss you if you were gone."

What he _wanted_ to say, and what he actually _would_ say - were to very different things...

What he _feels_ , and what he would openly _feel_ were also two different things as well.

Garrett tilted his head for a second, then his eyes softened as he grinned. A genuine appreciation showed on his face, "I like this side to you. It's humbling...somewhat approachable."

"Don't let it get around, Garrett. You know how it would be if it was getting around that I had vulnerabilities despite my grand caliber." Anders' nose crinkled, when actually he was glowing from the praise.

Garrett chuckled, "Your secrets are always safe with me."

"I suppose my outstanding heart can take comfort in that." Anders wanted to reach out, wanted to pull him into an embrace, wanted to run his fingers through-out Garrett's hair...but he didn't.

He wouldn't push him...not until the time was right for his healer's touch to make better the wounds inflicted.

But that was when he realized he didn't have to...for Garrett reached out himself, pulling Anders into an awkward hug that had good intentions. Garrett wasn't a hugger, and that was partially attributed to his fear of human contact. Anders was careful, placing his hands gently on his back and resting his chin on Garrett's shoulder. The moment suddenly became something Anders felt in his beautiful dreams, rather than his most voracious nightmares. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent that Garrett naturally put off. He always smelled of chocolate and lyrium, two very different scents that seemingly mingled together in the best possible way.

 

* * *

 

 

Garrett noted the little things about the moment...like the way his head was tucked softly into the feathers on his shoulder, the fact that he was comfortably taller, that Anders smelled vaguely of spices and elfroot, and the simple way his hair was to a point of no taming...

He could even smell the vaguest hints of Ser-Pounce-A-Lot on him, but only when he truly concentrated on a deep breath through his nose.

The hug drew out a long time, longer than most friendly ones do...

Even though he didn't want to break the moment, good things all come to an end. He finally pulled back (with more than a marginal amount of reluctance) and looked Anders in the eyes. The male was different somehow...his demeanor transformed into a tender care that could only be expressed to someone he'd known his entire life...

To someone he cared for deeper than expression could manage.

Garrett swallowed hopefully, and fearfully, at the thought of it. "Do you need walked back to the apprentice's chambers?"

He could tell something flickered over his expression, almost a reluctance to return, but with a knowledge it was not appropriate for him to block himself inside Garrett's room. "If you'd prefer to." Though there was a serious hint to the silence that followed.

"Whenever you're prepared to leave, Anders - just say the words and I'll walk with you."

"You're just worried about, Mordred."

"Partially...I'm also worried about you, too, you know."

"I'm sure." Anders expression flickered to life, "-even though you know I'm perfectly able to take care of myself, given my talents."

"No doubt." Garrett chuckled, perhaps the sound more bittersweet than he anticipated, "Never-the-less, it'd give you an excuse to drag someone into an elaberate scheme with the Templars, I'm sure." He teased.

"Normally - there would be a 99-100% chance of that, Garrett. Tonight - the stats have taken a nose-dive."

"I'm surprised at you, losing your edge?"

"Not one single bit Garrett, my plan is to catch them off guard. In order to catch them off guard, you have to lull them into complacency."

"I'm sure." He joked, enjoying the idle banter.

"You wouldn't understand-" He waved his hand idly, as they began to head towards the door, "After-all you are not a deliciously evil master-mind as I am."

Garrett couldn't help the laugh on that one, "Anders...Aaaanders...nope, doesn't sound like the type of name to project 'mua-ha-ha-ha' at any point in the nearby future."

"You just don't get these things, Garrett." Anders winked at him over his shoulder. "Someday, I shall teach you to embrace it, but until that day you will remain just an apprentice in my grand master plan."

Garrett closed his eyes, appreciative of this moment, and ever moment he had with Anders. If he ever lost him, he couldn't imagine the pain...

Losing your life was hard, but losing someone else...was even harder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs listened to during the chapter:
> 
> 1\. Bryan Adams: Brothers Under the Sun  
> 2\. Bryan Adams: Sound the Bugle  
> 3\. Phil Collins: No Way Out  
> 4\. RyanDan: Tears of an Angel  
> 5\. My Chemical Romance: Teenagers  
> 6\. Linkin Park: Castle of Glass (Acoustic Version)  
> 7\. Sebastian Winter/Phil Collins (piano cover): You'll Be In My Heart  
> 8\. John Legend: All of Me  
> 9\. Imagine Dragons: Demons  
> 10\. The Rasmus: Save Me Once Again  
> 11\. The Rasmus: Lost and Lonely (which has details of a possible sequel to this story.)


	6. Alchemedic Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about how long this took. I was doing animations for YouTube and started Silence Row...
> 
> And after a while I just completely spaced this guys sorry for that.
> 
> My rotation currently:
> 
> (edit as of 12/2/15)
> 
> 1\. Safe and Sound [discontinued] ( Chapter 2: The Way We Are Now)  
> 2\. Silence Row (Chapter 2: Morpheus! [now out])  
> 3\. My Immortal (Chapter 7: Anathemus and Justice [Construction of this chapter will begin in January of 2016])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the beginning felt like I was writing a Harry Potter FanFiction XD The Professor made me think of McGonagall!
> 
> If some of you were wondering: yes Mordred is this universe's version of The Warden.
> 
> There is no Garrett in this chapter, but there is a nice moment between Mordred and Anders.

Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.  
  
It was a cute phrase after all.

Almost as cute as Anders' cat...

The reality was that now a spirit was bobbing around inside Mordred's mind, like a house guest, that left foul tastes in his mouth and staked claims over his emotions every once in a while. It wasn't as if he could communicate with the entity - oh hell he tried...he even used his entire months stock of Lyrium and Lyrium potions trying. Now here he was straining against his feeble magics in day to day activities as a result.

Day.

By.

Day.

He remembered how things could be around here, with the memories of Garrett's induction day celebration resonating in the back of his mind. Somehow he felt like that was ages ago. It wasn't...it was only months ago...

Perhaps that was ages. He couldn't keep track.

His best friend Dorian...

Gone.

And nobody wants to speak of what the Temps did to him.

All he knew was that Dorian needed to be healed. Of course the Temps disposed of him somehow...but how? Or were they keeping him alive still? Were they torturing him?

That was the problem with not knowing these things. You tended to think of extreme situations...then again, with the Temps...the extreme could be possible.

"Focus!" The Mage snapped the wand down on the board before Mordred, calling his attention to the inevitable. "Focus on your work, or you will never become a Mage. Focus is the key - repeat again, apprentices...the axiom of Magic."  
  
Like a cult, their voices - besides Mordred's - intertwined into some kind of machine. It was the same routine over and over. "Mastery And Greatness Is Control."  
  
"Control, is the base point, Mastery is how you get there. Greatness is what you will achieve...this is the meaning of Magic. Yet you must be vigilant, even he most powerful can fall victim to the worst that Magic can offer. Can anyone tell me what this is?"  
  
Mordred wasn't sure if the first year student was stupid, reckless, or a know-it-all for actually raising his hand. You never could tell, sometimes those traits inter-bound into one. "Spirits and Demons."

Mordred bit back a snarl about how Spirits were much different than Demons. He blinked at himself, focusing on the sensation...he didn't normally snarl at other mages, no matter how wrong they were. Particularly in this case, where the mage was merely a child and was simply learning the basics of magic at this point in time. Why did he suddenly feel a surge of anger at this...it wasn't like he should be offended that someone mistook Demons and Spirits...  
  
Or should he?  
  
The complexity of his situation made him shutter...for he wasn't used to feeling notions he didn't quite understand in regards to where he was coming from.  
  
"Almost. Although Demons play a large role in the process, the most dangerous portion of magic is Blood Magic. It is-"  
  
Mordred blocked out the sound again, reminded that some apprentices were just starting out in this room - and others had been training for years...that was why there were basic lessons. Not to mention the simple fact that he just didn't want to listen to another unfortunate amount of his life spent on listening to a professor preaching lessons on 'the dangers of blood magic'.  
  
Which reminded him of his guest.  
  
He searched his emotions, as if to try and commune with the Spirit...or whatever he took into his soul. Strangely, the odd sensation of finding him...her...it wasn't unlike finding another part of yourself that you never knew before. It's like finding out for the first time that you enjoy Art or are a good Singer. It's that kind of sensation...like it's you...but it's a surprising part of you. He knew better than to close his eyes, for at the first sign of this he might draw undue attention from someone who wouldn't just slap a wand down on his desk and make him jump. He might draw attention from the Templars, and have his elven ass drug out of here faster than he could yelp.

A surprising flair of anger bubbled up in him, a thought drowning in the back of his mind. The thought that swam with his own. **_"That is unjust."_**  
  
He blinked. Odd. He didn't ever use the word 'unjust', even if he wouldn't describe the notion differently. He searched his feelings, again, just long enough to realize the sensation was not unlike having a psychiatric disorder where part of your thoughts aren't your own. He never did have one, so the only possible explanation was that the guest...his guest had...

Attempted to communicate?

Yet it felt like it was his own thought. Like...it was apart of his-

A sharp wack made him jump, "Apprentice! You may daydream all you want but in this classroom you will pay attention. Perhaps I should transfigure your books into an alarm clock that automatically goes off when your mind begins to wander? Hmmm?"

"Er...no thank you, Professor..."

"Consider it a warning. Next time you feel your mind drift into the clouds, screw your head on tighter." He turns around much to the laughter of some of the younger students.  
  
Mordred's face went red, and he wasn't sure if it was from his embarrassment or from a mild form of irritation that would probably be similar to a sensation that a Cat may have if it's owner feeds it a minute later than usual. As Anders once said, _"You must be punctual when it comes to cats. They are very picky creatures you know. And they deserve to be - with such fine tastes...isn't that right Ser-Pounce-A-Lot...!"_. Because of his experience prior to these thoughts, Mordred would imagine that Ser-Pounce would meow in return.

 He kept his eyes contentedly on the professor after this, but mostly because he was imagining transforming him into various types of, unsavory looking, animals.

Sometime later, Mordred would admit that the knowledge of his guest's notions in regards to his sensations on the matter would be a revelation, but right now he was too childishly irritated to care much...

* * *

 Mordred drug himself away from the desk and walked down the hall at request of Anders. _"Go get 3 shares of elfroot, we'll work from there."_ He had said to Mordred brusquely as he leaned over the plans they'd been slaving over respectively. Mordred walked down, browsing through the various ingredients before pulling out the leafy green plant.

Mordred has to give Anders credit, he took the arcane arts seriously sometimes, even if he seemed to project an image that he could pull anything off easily without even an afterthought. As if it was simply a paper he could easily write on, he acted like he knew everything there was to know at points. It rubbed Mordred the wrong way, and yet at the same time gave him mild amusement.  
  
"AND GRAB ONE DEEP MUSHROOM!" Ander's voice made Mordred almost jump, but instead he laughed and rolled his eyes.

Having done so, he trotted back over to where they had camped out in the dim candle light of the Library. "Alright, professor. Heeeere." He put them down before Anders, a chiding tone in his voice.

"Are you chastising me, Mordy? Truly?"  
  
"You yelled at me across the quiet library." He laughed in hushed tones, the flickering candle casting shadows across their faces as they leaned over the small table. "At night."  
  
"Well, I apologize for harming your sensitive ears, my precious little elf-y!" He teased, grasping two fingers on the tips of Mordred's ears and tugging softly back and forth.  
  
"Dirthara-ma!" He cursed, pushing his hand away before proceeding to rub his left ear. "That DOES hurt." Giving him a fake pout, he childishly stuck out his tongue in banter before he grew serious. "So, you hear about the new regime change in the Temps?"  
  
"Gossip about our favorite hosts? Do tell." Anders said with a sardonic cynicism in his voice. He lowered his voice, even though nobody besides the occasional elderly mage would appear in and out. They both pulled their legs out in a mirror image, sitting down on the yellow wood.

The room was considerably typical in lay out, with a coarse black carpet and stone tiled across the room. Not much color was here, aside from the books that had the barest importance to magic and mostly versus from the Chant of Light, stained within the pages. Mordred particularly hated the books, unlike most who just 'hated' the books, and that was mostly because he still held a candle of faith to his own Dalish gods rather than their Maker. He tolerated it well enough, glad that people could have their own views on the creation to the world...what he hated was when someone (even of his own religion) was up in your face about it. Shifting his head back towards Anders, Mordred's elvan green eyes were captured by the flickering light created by the candle (that was currently slumping a little to the side because it had melted so much in their painstaking amount of time here). "New leader..." He said in a simple answer.

"Whoa - did REEEENaldo finally get up there, then?" Renaldo. Where did he come up with this stupid crap? "HA! I am so amazing with my puns, you know this? Of course you know this. Now proceed with the information....unless you would like to glory in my astounding aptitude and witticism. Oh, I know - I can see it on your expression, my elvish friend, you so want to behold my spectacle on a regular basis! But alas...we must gossip...proceed before you distract me again with idly comments on my magnificence...I know it's hard...just try."  There was a slight pause where Anders looked back up at Mordred's expression before the human mage coughed...loudly. "You - my friend - have a dirty mind. I like that about you, now - ONWARD!" He said broadly, pushing on his shoulder.  
  
Used to this kind of one-sided conversation line, Mordred shook it off and spoke again. "You might be surprised to find out that the power struggle has had it's metaphorical table turned right on him. Ren is now caught with a blade at his throat."

"Heh. And we think we have problems. So, what is coming to Ren? Can we behold it? Oh! Is it a public hanging...." He started shaking Mordred by his arm, much to the small elf's discomfort and disorientation from the motion. "PLEEEEEASE tell me it's a public hanging!" He said, throwing Mordred around by his arm from the excited motion. Finally he stopped, head looking up at Mordred, "Pwease?" He said, purposely making the sound of the L into a W. Putting out a pout, he widened his eyes in a cartoon like fashion...  
  
Mordred sat there with his eyes rolling for a second before he shook it off and pushed him back, sending Anders back up onto his own side of the bench. "As much as we all wish it was..." He started carefully, eyeing Anders with suspicion (as if he was prepared to duck out of reach at any moment) after that 'shake me like a mixed drink' move he just pulled. "...actually, the power game has gotten meticulous."  
  
"Who are the new contenders?" Anders said, finally sobered about this topic.  
  
It was common knowledge that the Templars constantly fought for dominance like two male lions in a small pride. The fact of the matter was that the mages weren't the only one receiving back and forth wrath. The Templars fought among themselves too, an unfortunately unorganized organization that usually could mean more hell for the mages or changes that made day-to-day routine tedious. Never was there safety among the leaders anymore; however, the mage's pain levels changed depending on whom was on top. Every one of the Templars that could actually think for themselves, and weren't part of a mindless dictatorship all had different opinions on how they should 'bring down the mages'. "Two." He held up his hand as he passed his fingers over the plans again, reminding Anders they needed to work, while engaging in sibilation, lest they make it obvious they were speaking forthwith about their monstrous hosts. "Three if you count Ren, though it's looking like he may be slowly being cut from the fray like a stray string." He began mashing up elfroot while Anders worked on stirring the brew of their potion (for the only class they were somewhat educated in).  
  
"Fascinating. And who's cunning enough to cut that deviously idiotic Temp from the game?"  
  
Mordred looked around, stretching and cracking his neck to hide his glance in an attempt of subtly. After he was re-assured they were entirely alone at this point, he sighed and began chopping on the herbs again, "Some no name Templar recently transferred from Kirkwall."  
  
Anders blinked, "Kirkwall-ian templar?"  
  
"No joke, Anders." He said gravely, his grim expression a severe outline of the situation. "He sounds like an outright bigot, if I've ever heard of one."

"Andraste's Knicker-weasels..." Anders breathed, "The last time I saw that expression on your face Garrett had just kicked a Templar in the nads..."  
  
"It's bad, Anders. They call him Fenris, though I'm not entirely sure that's his name. I've seen him once or twice in passing, and he's big for an elf. Rumors spoken through the pipes say that he's from Minrathous." It was well known that "the pipes" was a mage whom is credited with being able to sneak in and out of the Templar's offices without being detected, and is able to garner any information he's asked to gain. Although the Templars openly deny his existence, and even go so far as to refuse to beat down - or kill - anyone who mentions him openly. It was why the mages had multiple code names for him...or her? Come to think of it, Mordred found it a bit sexist that they all just assume it's a male.  
  
Anders caught Mordred's attention after a short pause with, "Wait, Dorian dies and an elf, of Tevinter Origin, looking to become macho-head-templar all in the same stretch? Something doesn't add up."  
  
"That's what I assumed at first, though the pipes say nothing relevant about it." He tossed over the elfroot for Anders to place inside the boiling black mini-cauldron.  
  
"Who's the other?" He said, hoping to get off that thought...at least for now.  
  
"Someone named Alistair."  
  
"Alistair? That sounds like a stargazer name."  
  
He actually let out a soft laugh, "That's what I said. Apparently he's Ferelden, a Knight-Commander from Kinloch Hold whom was sent here to equalize relations between Fereldan Circle and the Anderfel's."  
  
Anders leaned forward, his interest genuinely peaked at this point. "Kinloch Hold...that's the tower near Lake Calanhad, right?"  
  
"Correct. My old Clan once passed near to Calanhad. It's dark...ominous...it looks like something straight out of a horror story, trust me, Anders...but it ain't nothing compared to this." He yawned, pretending to stretch while really gesturing outward. Flopping his hands back on the table, he pulled over the Deep Mushroom and started on the required task of him slicing it up into four equal parts. His hand shook upon the knife, while his attention wavered to the conversation simultaneously. "I don't know anything of him beyond that. He's supposed to be getting here soon, and if I'm not mistaken that's Fereldan's goal by sending him." He sighs, throwing the two halves for Anders' potion inside the cauldron and allowing his friend to mix his own brew without interfering.  
  
He never was that great at Alchemy anyways.  
  
Anders stirred in several counter-clockwise turns of his liquid, the substance changing from it's inky black coloration to a midnight blue before he spoke again. "You never spoke much of your Clan. What were they like?"  
  
"They were...gracious. Humble from what I remember..." He grew distant, eyes fading into a time long before his life here. His pupils dilated outward as he spoke, for his sorrow and misery knew no bounds when it came to how much he missed them. "Hmmm..." He smiled, the sound a reminiscing glory that flew past the planes of time and into a world near and lost to his heart. "They cared...we cared, for one another. There was sorrow sometimes, but there was also happiness...and when one was happy, the others rejoiced with them. When one was pained, the others frowned with them. We were family...all of us..." He said, his voice growing quieter.  
  
Anders looked over to Mordred his eyes open a little further. "It sounds..."  
  
"It was wonderful. I..." He spaced, "I can't describe it. It was freedom, Anders. There were no walls...there was no fear...there was no coloration of blood. There were green trees...and soft sounds of the river flowing beside you as you walked and laughed with those who cared about you. There was an open world, caravels, love, rolling hills, trees, glory, and a sense of adventure. Roaming through the soft grass or walking through the trees...taking in the sights and sounds of nature, and not feeling trapped in a hustle and bustle of the city." A sad smile settled over his features, "They call what we have at our command Magic, Anders...but what's truly magic is holding the hand of someone you love and just taking a stroll through the forest." He smiled wistfully, "It's old magic...but good..."  
  
Anders took note of his expression, and realized that Mordred was probably in love with someone before he came here. He wasn't just talking of a dream...no this was the look of a man who had something wonderful, and had it taken harshly away from him before he could save it...

His mind wandered to the thought of Garrett...  
  
And the worst thought imaginable occurred to him...

Would that be him someday?

He perished it, shuttering before he sighed and allowed the small black stirrer to slowly swirl to the side of his bubbling cauldron. Just in time too, for Mordred's shoulders began to quake. Mordred didn't just break down, it wasn't in his nature; however, he did have his moments of irrevocable agony. This was the most he'd ever opened up before on his past, and Anders didn't blame him. It was hard to talk about who you were...because that was sacred. It was like holding a candle in the wind that refused to give out as long as you concealed it.

Reaching out, Anders placed his hand between Mordred's shoulders and rubbed in circles. Picking up on it, Mordred sighed and his shoulders bunched before relaxing. It seemed a familiar gesture to him, the shoulder rub, of a place - perhaps a long time ago back with his clan. A soft croak came from his throat before he cleared it and pulled a 'marker, take two' kind of moment, "Anders...you and Garrett are all I have left...I just..."  
  
"I know." He said, a mutual understanding shared between. Anders was serious for the first time, his ego toned down to a manageable level. "I know the feeling."

Mordred looked over, green locking into hazel - and the silent understanding was enough. "What would I do without friends like you to back me up?" A sad smile came across his features.

"Nothing without me, Mordred." Anders' ego returned, "I mean, if I weren't here - you and Garrett would fall apart and not know what to do with yourselves!"

He smirked a little, his sorrow cracked through due to his friend's ever-loving nature. "Well, I don't know about that. There would be less talking....now there's an upside."  
  
He gasped, making a theatrical gesture and forgetting all about their place in time. "Egads! How dare you! I have a beautiful voice!"  
  
He laughed, "It's Egad."  
  
"Egads sounds better-" Anders began, but at that exact moment they felt a steely hand on a perspective shoulder, and breathing over them...  
  
Was a Templar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, it's done :P Now I can be content with my life and go back to writing SAS.
> 
> Songs Listened to during the chapter:
> 
> 1\. Phil Collins - "In The Air Tonight"  
> 2\. Bon Jovi - "Livin' On A Prayer"  
> 3\. The Eagles - "Hotel California"  
> 4\. Aerosmith - "Dream On."  
> 5\. Genesis - "Dreamin' While You Sleep"  
> 6\. Mumford and Sons - "Broken Crown"


	7. Bane's Facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally come to a head. The mages gather, justice comes, and darkness finally comes to light about who the Pipes really are....or is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reader waits patiently for seemingly fifteen months. The writers puts things off because of laziness. The chapter arrives. The reader questions the title of the chapter. The writer smiles, leaning back for reactions.

Mordred was fearing for his life more than words could express. He was fearing for Anders. He feared for Garrus. He feared for all mages.

Suddenly he was back in his clan, staring up at the void that consisted of the trees. Black they burned, fire blazing against the scorched trees, the love of his life screaming out his name with a scratched throat, _"MAHONNAN!"_ He scrapped upon the blackened dirt, dragged by his leg. He was the keeper's first, so naturally he'd be drug off. He thought he could trust these Shemlen...why didn't he listen to his Keeper's advice? He was always the rebellious one. Why did he have to be so rebellious? _"MAHO-!"_ Blood splattered the trees, and he probably screamed harder in rage and agony then he ever had in his life. He watched his pregnant lover's head roll across the ground to the templar's foot, where he simply kicked it away in disgust and started walking off. The world lost all color in that instant, and it was only then that he forgot what the color red looked like.

Mordred felt himself hit the small end table, holding back a curse when his funny bone came in contact with the leg and sent a sharp fuzzy jolt up his arm. The sensation was like calling electricity to your fingers for the first time, without channeling it in a staff. It was like a muffled sensation, something that was there, but was covered by a cloth. There was a barrier between your fingers and the item you attempted to touch, and it was sent all the way down to his fingers in a lingering, yet unpleasant, farce. The Templar laughed at the painful joke, obviously having done this on purpose to torture his assailant.

Anders recognized the Templar, because he'd been drug in by every one in the tower, "Hey, Bennie boy!" He said, causing the Templar's head to turn sharply to the side, glaring. Benjamin Vaelaris hated his name, and especially hated being called 'Ben' or 'Bennie'. Anders knew this, continuing without a stumble, "Hows the wife, eh? She still into your small dick after I showed her what a real man can do?" Obviously the oldest insult in the book, if it could be still be called that as immature as it was. Anders, however, was on the fly and pissed at the treatment of Mordred. Despite it being unsurprising, the blonde was still pissed off. He was protective over Mordred and Garrett.

A swift wack of a small blunt object from a near-by table was enough to make Anders spit out blood, smiling with the red droplets shifting down across sharply curved lips and tangle with the splatter across his chin. They'd at least stopped moving, for the moment, and as such no more carpet burns were to be expected from the occasional rug. Mordred's eyes widened in abject horror. He'd never been able to see the coloration of blood, but when Anders didn't stop there he couldn't believe it.

"Come on, Bennnnnie-that all ya got? Damn, no wonder your wife screamed my name so loud-" A sharp crack in his rib cage sent Anders across the wall, the fellow Templar next to Ben just letting him go and set himself against the wall. He shifted with his arms crossed, making tsking noises like he wasn't going to interfere. Anders laughed, despite the sharp noises he made when he did, the way he held that side to his body out of fear that one would be kicked just the right way it'd be sent back into his lung. "...was...that...my Grandmother?" He wheezed with a mirthless laugh.

Mordred suddenly noticed that a few younger Mages had gathered to watch from a doorway, their little faces cautiously peaking like they were watching a spectacle of the utmost fascinating nature. It was like someone had lit a professor's beard on fire and they wanted to catch a glimpse before it was put out.

Anders didn't expect the blade to be drawn so soon, nor it to be thrown down against his leg. The blonde hissed when it carved straight down to the bone, his exposed leg squirting out some fresh paint against the dried, crispy, previous coat. After a second, the Templar having pulled his blade back with a triumphant smile at the sudden show of agony, Anders began laughing. At first, it made the children take a step back, and even the Templar faltered. The laugh was so inimical that Mordred wondered if Anders hadn't finally cracked. Suddenly the male looked up, darkness shining in amber eyes. It was then that Mordred's eyes widened significantly, and Professor Maylin suddenly tried directing them back inside. It wasn't hard to see why, for some of the children were stifling sniffs and one was flinching, covering his features with trained palms. 

Mordred wished the other Templar hadn't alled their attention, "NO. Let them see what happens to a Mage when he gets this FAR out of line."

"They are mere children!" Maylin said indignantly, beard shifting with the statement, but flinched as soon as he did.

"Would you like the same to happen to one of your class, HMMM? WOULD YOU FOR YOUR IGNORANCE?"

Mordred felt a flare of anger in a sudden jolt, righteousness surging within him like a newfound elected energy. Whether it was from the abuse of his friend, the cruel tone of the Templar's voice, or the one child who cried, trying desperately to turn away from such brutality, Mordred lit up with a glow. Suddenly, his vision clouded up, like vignette had taken the corners of his vision. It was then that he lost control of his body, and he stood up, voice booming and violent. It was not his own, doubled and covered with such a vile anger, " ** _YOU ARE HORRENDOUS CREATURES THAT HAVE NO SENSE OF MORALITY. YOU WILL NEVER HARM ANOTHER MAGE AGAIN!_** "

Anders stopped laughing when Mordred's shadow grew larger, engulfing the wall. The Templars shouted something along the lines of 'DEMON' and 'BLOOD MAGIC'. Maybe even 'MELEFICARUM'...

But it was quickly silenced.

And that was the moment, when the river began running all too red.

The bodies lifted up in the air, Ben making a strangled scream that resonated before his body was ripped...limb from limb. Blood went everywhere, bones shattering with a violent crack. His buddy, the one who forced the children to stay, suddenly showed his loyalties in full colors. He ran for his life as soon as Mordred's skin started crackling like lightning, and dropped his weapon on the way. The screams fading down the hall were like a little female child's, before Mordred reached out - shimmering tendrils pulling the male back by his legs. "NO! Don't kill me! DON'T KILL ME, PLEASE!" He begged violently for his life, sobbing like a petulant child.

But Mordred (or was he?) apparently heard nothing of the cries, dragging him into the depths of his death. Anders scrambled up onto his bloodied leg, wheezing from the pain in his rib. He rushed to the children, and Professor Maylin, as fast as he could limp. The young children, ranging from 5 to around 12, and the magical instructor all stood within shock. Desperately, he shepherded them into the classroom...

When the youngest, a young brunette girl around 5, suddenly burst into tears Anders leaned down and hugged her. It was only then that it finally hit him...

He wanted to be a _healer_. It was confirmed in his mind for the first time in years. He'd never been more sure of the notion until then. Mayhaps it was that drive that led him to desperately grasp against aiding Garrus with his problems...among other reasons.

The young girl wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing silently with tears staining her young pudgy features.

The most ominous roar came from behind them, something that Anders would forever be haunted by, " ** _JUSTICE_** _!_ "

He held the girl a little tighter when she made a whimper from it, and he looked up at Maylin with a dark look. "I'm not sure if the Templars will tolerate this." He said grimly. "Taunts from singular mages are one thing...but if that was what I think it was..." Anders trailed off.

The professor shook his bald head, mouth pulled into a thin line as he spoke, "Your friend has started a war. One we cannot win."

"Professor...this...this has been a war for a long time." He spoke, voice hoarse but filled with inevitable truth. He closed his eyes, "The difference is that the mages just have refused to fight it. Most mages want to submit, sit back, ignore the problem. But I'm not sure if we can ignore it anymore, Professor. As soon as this hits the fan, I know what the Knight Commander is going to do. He'll call for Annulment, it's inevitable." When Amber orbs were revealed again, he said, "We have to fight for our lives, now."

"This is your friend's fault. All of it. He's going to cost all our lives, all because he's a typical maleficarum."

"NO!" The 19 year old said, standing up (with a wince) and letting the young girl (whom was currently sniffling and wiping her eyes) go, "In all honesty Professor, I think you know this was inevitable in the first place. It was either be tortured forever, waiting for the day when the last mage was killed, or eventually letting corruption take us to an uprising." The children were listening to the back and forth, their young minds trying to comprehend how bad things really were right now. "Or...take action on our own. It's time. We have to take a stand, we have to fight. The time for this...this...supposed PEACE...is over. It's time to fight....fight, run, or die."

Maylin swallowed, realizing the truth of his words. Eyes closing, he sighed, "We must speak with the First Enchanter, and explain the situation. If he feels the need to fight, then we shall fight for our Circle here in Hossberg with all our might." Green eyes opened to greet Amber, and the two exchanged a dark, deep look. "However, we are faced with some serious problems in the moment. Firstly, we must dispose of the victims."

 

* * *

 

 

_Mordred, huddled quietly in the corner. He was afraid of what had surfaced within him, and the mages were now afraid of him, and for good reason. He'd just eaten Benjamin, and resultantly his stomach churned the human meat over, threatening to disgorge himself of any normal meal. Guilt was piling up in his stomach like a bunch of old dirty laundry that came tumbling down in a closet, knocking clean shirts and pants off in a sticky pile of junk. Unfortunately, it seemed that the shame wasn't doing well on keeping his last, tiny meal, in check. It caused him to feel vile and disgusting, chunky sensations slowly bubbling up in his throat in a queasy sensation that caused him to swallow back the rancid, half digested, bread and pasty Templar meat. He tasted old blood in his mouth, which didn't help the situation. He tried not to think about the fact that he was looking at Anders picking up tangled remains of blood, guts, and crunched bones from his previous meal._

_Anders gagged, coughing as he heaved the large, slightly torn up, lower intestine into a dark closet he'd been hiding the other remains in. Sweet Maker, and an Andraste's Knicker Weasels, this was cannibalism. He never would've expected this from his white-knight of a friend, Mordred. The elf was always so sweet, so civil, so kind...this was..._

_Something else._

_Somewhere in him, Anders knew Mordred wasn't himself, and as sick as he looked now, it proved he hadn't been in his right mind. The question was, how did an Abomination come back from being taken over?_

_Unless..._

_He wasn't an abomination, at all. There must be some gray area here that Anders wasn't getting. He'd investigate further later, though, for now he had to concentrate on the task of not heaving up the pasty rice and beans he ate this morning._

_"He's...he's not a demon..." Mordred said as he was bound up by the ropes, hauled onto his feet by the mages behind him. "Anders...please..." He begged, fearing for his life at the hands of the mage glaring down at him. "Please...if I must I will allow myself to be killed...you have no idea how much shame I feel in brutalizing these Templars. I know it seems strange, because...well, they've done so much worse sometimes...but I do. Please, Anders...you have to know this isn't ME!" The elf struggled._

_"That's what ALL maleficarum will say! But soon you'll be turning on us just as fast, DEMON!" An older teenage mage growled, yelling it as he started aiding his teacher._

_"I'm not a DEMON!" He said desperately, turning back to pleading with Anders, "Anders...you've got to know...as a Spirit Healer you know! There aren't just Demons in the fade. There are good spirits, too! Spirits that embody our virtues-"_

_"That spirit brutalized two humans, caused you to eat one of them." Said the professor, surprisingly calmly, "Anders, if you truly are leading this war effort...you should be the one to judge him. But don't be swayed because you've known him for so long. Remember what he just did, remember what you've always been taught about Abominations, even if you may have been so too rebellious over the years. I know you know in your heart what is just here-"_

_Anders held up a hand, rubbed it across his face, and felt more weary than he ever had. "Mordred..." He said sadly._

_"No...no, Anders...don't do this..."_

_"Mordred shut up for a second." He sighed, the catalyst clamping his mouth shut quietly. "Andraste's Knickerweasels...where is Garrett when you need him. He's always so much better at these decisions than I am..." He sighed, "Mordred, speak your case."_

_"Anders...there are good spirits. All spirits are corrupt in some way, but Justice meant well. He saved you didn't-"_

_"Justice? You have a name for him?" Interrupted the Professor with disgust._

_"No..." Mordred shook his head, "...I just...I know it. I feel it. He talks so much on it, and-"  
_

_"So you have been communing with him. This is obviously blood magic. It's no less."  
_

_"No, it's not LIKE THAT!" Mordred's voice had gone up in fear, an octave that was clearly showing his fear._

_"What do you mean his name is Justice, Mordy?"_

_"I don't know...I just know. I can't explain it. How do you know when your name became Anders? How do any of us know? He just...I think he prefers it. There are certain fade spirits that are different, you know. Like spirits of Fortitude, Valor, Faith, Compassion, and Wisdom. I think he's a Spirit of Justice, and that's why he prefers it."_

_Anders nodded, "When do you pick him up, Mordy? How long have you had him?"_

_"Not long. I think...I think he saved me. When we went to the fade, I think he saved me. He breathed life back into me, set me down where I am now. He told me...my death was honorable, but it was an injustice. Then...I woke up...and was back in the dorms with you and Garrett."_

_"You were all in the fade?" The professor was overwhelmed by the seeming crimes. "Without anyone's knowledge?"_

_"We had the best of intentions, we were to save our friend. But that's besides the point. This Spirit...he sounds dangerous, which could be...helpful. Mordred, can you...can you control him...it?"_

_"I...I don't know. I think he thinks our cause is just. Maybe we could use him to our advantage."_

_Anders nodded, "Then you will stay alive. When this is all over though..."_

_"I know. I'll face whatever sentence will be brought to me...."_

_"I didn't say you'd die or anything. Don't be so grave."_

_"Lashings, stoning, destruction...it matters not. I want to be punished for what I've done...I'm to guilty to just...walk without something done." He hung his head, causing Anders to flinch at how desolate his friend looked._

 

* * *

 

 

"...We'll need to get the children to safety somehow."

Anders thought about things, "Garrett knows a way." He suddenly said, leveling. "He once had to clean out a bunch of spiders as a punishment for falling asleep in the library a few years ago. He said he discovered some strange passageway that leads down to a magical storeroom the Templars hardly ever go to...just trying to draw less attention to it. The only thing is...the children will need to leave the artifacts alone, I believe. Garrett took me down there not long after...a lot of them have the marks of Tevinter..."

 

* * *

 

 

_Garrett shepherded silently, hushed voice echoing softly across the dripping walls of the strange underground cave. Small patches of red scattered the rocks like blood stains, but the fact of the matter was that was just the orange and red lay-out of the Anderfels geographical structure. The most gray you had was around the Hunterhorn Mountains, some ways away from here. He knew you had to go across the Abyssal Gorge from here just to cross into them, and a lot of people had disappeared, according to the books they read, into the depths of those dark crevices._

_"Shhh...children, keep quiet." The Professor following him said, "Please, we wish not to be caught by the Temps."_

_Garrett gave a hum of agreement, still in shock that Mordred could have caused these tensions to peak. Of all the people that could have caused the final blow, he would have expected Mordred to be the lowest on that list. Nobody told him what, exactly had happened, but he imagined things were severe if these drastic measures had taken effect. He stopped at the wall, and ran his hands down the craggily structure until his palms settled on the small magical veil where his fingers could slip right through. He outlined the small passage with his magic, causing the white to prove where to crawl, and gestured for the children, of all ages, to crawl within._

_When it was just him and the Battle-mage Professor, he reached out his hand to settle it on the shoulder of the female, "If things get bad, you must save the children at all cost."_

_"They are the last remaining magical legacy for the Anderfels, and I will fight to my last breath to save them. I can assure you of this." She said, dark eyes settling into Garrett's bright chocolate._

_Garrett nodded, dusty brown hair shifting slightly from the motion, "Remember, if things go bad, we'll give you the signal. One mage will retreat to his last to get here to warn you. If things even look slightly downward, we'll give you word. We can't take any chances with the lives of the young."_

_The battlemage direly nodded, and crawled silently through the magical overlay. Garrett sighed, and muttered protective chants over the top of it to keep it sealed, hoping the damage that the lasting Wards might do could slow down the Templars if all else fails. At least long enough for the trained mages to do some damage. The younger children will have to run, but at least they might have some kind of fail-safe._

 

* * *

 

"We need a place to culminate ourselves. We also need to get the First Enchanter's audience without alerting attention of the Temps."

"I know a guy." Anders said with irony in his smile.

 

* * *

 

 

_"Anders..." The elf laced hands together, "Good to see you again." He smiled with Irony, the small wing shaped tattoo on his eye curling slightly with the shifting of his lips._

_"I need the help of the Pipes. We  have a serious situation."_

_"So I've heard. You know how things go Anders, I see all...hear all...so...you need somewhere to meet for war...I think I have just the place. As for your first Enchanter...I can only sneak in one person at a time. It will have to be the person leading the war effort."_

_"You can't get two mages in?"_

_"The walls have ears, Anders." Was all he said, "And lately, the walls have been getting thinner and thinner. Though...I think I have an idea for broadcasting said conversation to a singular room, if the Temps aren't within range of the doors."_

_"Then I'll go in. Can you broadcast it to Garrett's quarters? The Temps rarely worry about him."_

_"I can manage just about anything, Anders. It's why I'm the best at what I do." A dark chuckle signaled the end of their short-lived conversation. "Oh, and before you go...I have something for that cat I gave you." He picked up a small item that jingled slightly in his palm, "If the walls are correct, and..." He laughed mirthlessly, "Quite frankly I know they are...then Pounce will need this."_

_"A collar?"_

_"Not just any. Trust me, you'll know what it does when it's needed. In return, however, I want to fight with you."_

_Anders turned, "What-"_

_"It's been a long time since I've used my blades. I want their blood to flow at MY hands for what they did to my brother." The elf looked up, blue eyes almost blackening with rage from longtime vengeance. "I want to come out into the open. I want the Mages to know that the facade is over, that the pipes are on their side...that Bane is only their bane to command. And as hard as this may be for you, there's a certain Templar I have a blood fued with I'd love to get rid of..."  
_

_"Name him."_

 

* * *

 

 

Anders dropped down, cursing and complaining about his robes causing him to hang slightly from a stalactite just above him. He reached up and pulled sharply, a loud ripping sound signalling his descent into the room with a sharp roll. He sat there in a daze for a moment, as the First Enchanter stood sharply and tried not to make a noise of surprise. His hand landed on his heart, and he sighed out a relaxed noise when he realized that it was only a fellow mage. He recognized Anders, for his name had been spoken all too many times among the hallowed halls. Even if the First Enchanter was feared of conversing with other mages, mostly because of the Templar's paranoia - it wasn't like he didn't know the mages by name and description.

Anders grumbled, "Ugh...why did I volunteer for this!" He said, "I should have just sent Garrett to do it..." He stood up, brushing himself off and checking the rip in his blue robes. But he knew what was at steak, and he turned towards his First Enchanter with what passes for Determination in Ander's world. "First Enchanter Briaus...please, I come seeking council."

"How did you get yourself in here?" He asked as Anders tapped his wand on his arm.

In Garrett's room, a few Senior Enchanters and Garrett were greeted with the scene before Ander's eyes, via 1st person. "Not enough time." The blonde panted, having squeezed himself through quiet a few cave-like crevices in order to manage here by now. Almost enough to make Anders want never to see another cave again and feel fine, "Please, First Enchanter...something has happened. A mage has been infected with a spirit, and before you react too harshly, it isn't anything to worry about. The mage returned to himself and-"

"Blood magic! The templars will have our lives for this!"

"No, you don't understand!" Anders pleaded as best as he could manage, still panting from his trip over, "It's not blood magic! It's a Spirit of Virtue! He thinks it's a Spirit of Justice." The pause, at this, was enough to keep going for the blonde, "It's time, Briaus...First Enchanter..." He corrected, "The time for Peace is over. We have to fight! We need to. The Temps have had their way for far too long, destroying us, torturing us, raping our young and old, and defiling whatever joy we can get in our lives. Everything is prepared. All we need is you to give the go."

The First Enchanter paused for a painstaking amount of time.

Anders suddenly felt the weight of air press down upon him. He knew what was at stake, and he hoped his predecessor did as well.

Just when Anders felt like he couldn't hold his breath any longer, the First Enchanter spoke. "I'm a man for the circle...but not for this circle. We will fight to destroy these bloodlusting Templars, but when it is over - I expect everyone to find their way to Fereldan. I want no-one to try to run to Tevinter. We will make our way back to the Circle in Fereldan, I've heard that it's not bad there, and my friend Irvin would probably be willing to vouch for us."

Anders felt this unrealistic, given what they were going to do. But if that was what the First Enchanter thought would happen, then he would go along with it for now. But he wasn't going to go back to the Circle when this was over...

If he had to do it on his last breath, he was going to take Mordred, Garrett, and he was going to run to freedom. He was going to Tevinter. He WAS going to taste what a free mage felt like for the first time in his life. And he was going to carry the news of Dorian's life back to his family in Minrathous, be damned with the consequences. It's what the male would have wanted....

 

* * *

 

 

Garrett swallowed, hands shaking on his knees. "Anders-" He said, a small black wand clutched tightly within his hands. "If we don't make it out of this...I just...I want you to know something. And be damned with the consequences, because quite frankly, I feel like we're all going to die in a few moments, and if I don't get this off my chest..." He trailed off.

Anders turned towards him, "Garrett...what is it?" He wanted to hear the words, even if he knew what was coming. He started to reach out to him, but a small mage came rushing in.

The moment broken up, Anders stood, "What?!"

"THE TEMPS ARE COMING!"

"BRACE YOURSELVES-" A blast came through the wall, sending sparks and rubble across the room as the massing of gathered mages were either sent back or shifted off their feet uneasily.

The light breaking through the wall was enough to outline an ominous pointy eared figure that eventually adjusted to a large elf with feathers across the suite he'd picked out. His Templar armor was changed, altered to his liking. "Mages. You're all the same." His deep voice said, eyes dark. White hair, pale features, gangly arms, and glowing tattoos all across his body revealed the figure that the pipes had spoken down upon before. The new Knight Commander, having killed all the other contenders.

_**Fenris** _

Something about the name left a bad taste in Anders mouth, and he quickly stood up to his adversaries, casting an instant ward upon Garrett to help him.

But just as he was about to cast a Fireball spell, a figure dropped from the ceiling and sliced right through the Knight Commanders back, rolling over the elf's back and straightening with a growl. "Hows your sister, Fen?" Said the figure, clearly having known him for a time.

"Warden." Fenris' lips curled at the Dalish elf, eyes darkening.

"Good to see you." Though the words sounded more along the lines of 'drop dead'.

"Somehow I should have known you'd been involved in this." The elf said, eyes narrowing viciously.

"I should say the same for you, len'alas lath'din." The glare was obviously personal, blue eyes piercing the opposing elf's.

"You always have been the bane of my existence."

"Good to know I live up to my name." Bane growled, lips curling. "Now are you gunna talk, or are you gunna fight."

And so it was engaged, war cries signalling a sudden rush of mage spells and Templar wards. This was going to be an all-too evenly matched battle...

One for the centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, ladies and gents. Stay tuned for our next, and last, chapter: "Sacrificial Thanatos"
> 
> Brownie points if you figured out who Bane was before he came to light.
> 
> As for Garrett and Anders, don't worry - things will come down to the wire.


	8. Thanatos' Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blood feud between mages, a final reunion, and the first few steps out into light for first time in years....
> 
> Warning: IF YOU ARE A FENRIS FAN DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to my friend Destiny, whom has helped me through my span of depression recently and aided me in bringing me back up from the lowest point in my life...

So here they were now.

The breaking point.

The Leader, Anders, standing behind the troupes and casting healing spells as fast as his fingers could manage, as much as he could manage without straining himself...

The leading Soldier, Garrett, seemingly rushing in with as much power as he could manage. He called with valor and casting with cries filled to the brim, containing so much vengeance, it was almost characteristic of someone nearer to the Temps level...

The Martyr, Bane, warden stamina showing as he crossed blade's with his long-time elven rival. He slashed, he dashed, he kicked, he fought tooth and nail. Blow after blow he spluttered insults with meaning behind them, remembering the sound of his brother's crying night after night before his suicide...

The Commander, Fenris, large two-handed sword swinging as he fought his rogue adversary well. He knew well to keep his eyes close to the male, or as much as he could manage. Lips curled he glared (eyes spitting dark fire), mouth shifting out responding words to the insults he yowled, and arms swinging viciously he fought...

The Templars fighting with blades, yelling their battle cries, responding with flourishes of lyrium-bound powers that summoned silencing spells towards certain magic...

The Mages defending valiantly with staffs, casting vicious spells, lightning reigning down, fire flaring up, wards protecting and blasting with brutality...

Victims hidden away silently, whimpering in hallowed halls below the dark crevices of caves sheltered under Hossberg...

It was like all things finally came crashing down far too violently for anyone to fully comprehend.

The Mages, however, had one disadvantage to the Temps....

The Temps could block their powers.

And this was no insignificant disadvantage mind you. Even if the Templars could block them only for a short time before the Lyrium faded, it was enough that the Mages were exposed. The Wards couldn't be canceled out entirely if they were self-casted, but the offensive spells could be.

Anders could only heal so many Mages before he grew weak, and even though most Mages tended to have some kind of defensive (or healing) spell they learned, it almost seemed futile.

Everywhere in the circle there were fights breaking out in blood-splattered walls. The mages causing damage while the Templars seemingly cost even more lives than their rebellion. And although the Templars believed themselves winning...

There was one more thing that was occurring unbeknownst to their narrow concentration...

 

* * *

Mordred's Redemption.

* * *

 

 

The black haired elf struggled through the narrow passage way, small droplets of water making contact with stone somewhere behind him. The sound was enough to resonate through the many unknown (to the templars, and most mages) passages that lined the halls for so many years. Worn hands clasped hard rock, pulling ever closer as a grunt signaled the tunnel was getting more minuscule by the motion. The Dalish pressed himself down against red stone, forcing his body to contract harshly; however, there was one serious problem he was faced with as his staff made contact with the sharp rock. He cursed, pulled back by the strap around his torso. It came to his realization that he could only fight whatever security measures were in here for so long if he unbuckled this thing and let his prized Heartwood Staff go.

The sound it made when it contacted the stone however, only led to another problem. The loud crack caught unwanted attention down at the other end of the passage. A Templar stood up, having been stationed to protect these viles while the war raged (by Fenris) and peered at the wall with curiosity. "Hello?" The Templar's blonde hair shifted slightly as he drew his blade, arm tensing with years of training from blade-to-blade, blade-to-flesh combat.

The elf's breath caught, body instantly going ridged with a cold fear. It was then that he knew what he had to do. Shifting the muscles along his body, he rose his torso towards the sky. He was probably lucky that the blackened wood didn't scratch along the cave's surface. Bringing his breath in to a halt, he unclasped the small buckle that clasped the staff along the curved elven spine. When the small snap sounded quietly, muffled under his palm, he tried desperately for the metal not to come in contact with stone. Finally, the brunette, managed to crawl out from it. Silently, internally, the mage swore to himself he'd come back for it as soon as he took out whomever stood at the other end of the channel.

He heard a small ding as some blade came in contact with the stone along cracked walls. It rattled the tunnel, causing the uneasily carved rock to crack. Consequentially small dust particles fell down against the narrow passage and burned Mordred's eyes. The elf desperately tried not to cough or sneeze, and realized that if he didn't do something soon it wasn't just his Blackened Heartwood Staff that would be at stake. Mordred crawled faster, using even his legs in a desperate ply for life.

Unfortunately, this caused the Templar to step back at the noise and raise his blade.

Mordred saw this through the thin veil, which allowed only the man crawling towards it to catch a glimpse of events on the other side. The problem was that it was blurry and fuzzed, because the magic on this particular channel hadn't been renewed in years. He held out his palms blindly towards the silhouetted figure and called lightning to his fingers. It seemed to strike the Templar flat to the ground, causing him to convulse. "Not the smartest one, are you..." He said, sliding down with his feet falling flat. Turning, he saw the figure plainly for the first time, causing his jaw to snap shut. "Cullen..." He said in shock. The Templar was beaten and bruised, looking like Mordred's spell wasn't the only thing that had damaged him in the past 24 hours. No Mage had seen Cullen in a few weeks, and had all mused him to having been drug off for reprogramming again. This was...

This was something else.

It was like he'd been punished violently...

For what?

Mordred shook his head, for he had no time to think about it. The humanity in him was showing as he closed his eyes and held out his palms, turning a sharply curved head away from him as the paralyzation spell was cast. He refused to cause any more harm to him, but he couldn't allow him to block his path to the goal.

 

* * *

 

 

Garrett's staff clanged as it came in contact with the sword, mana to far down to cast a spell. He was forced back by the motion suddenly made, stumbling off his feet with a crash to the ground. He caught himself, jumping back up onto his feet with an uneasy edge. A far cry from what was expected of any grace, he slashed back with a flame-edged blade, striking against the Templar who retaliated shortly, and ferociously. A squirt of blood coated the walls like splatter paint as Garrett to stumble back slightly, grasping against the stone with his head turned up. "Mordy...hurry..." He panted, eyes dark and fatigue showing as he parried another blow.

These mages weren't used to battle, they just weren't. All their lives they'd been trained to fear their power, not utilize it in the manner gifted to them. Fighting was not in their nature, and it was abundantly clear by just glancing across the room. The only one doing severe damage was Bane, his two blades dancing around Fenris' two handed sword.

Anders called a healing spell to revitalize Garrett when he showed the weakness, almost drawn to the fatigue he showed over any other. Something in him may have been bias in that nature, but it made no difference to the leader. Pulling his staff up, he slammed it down upon the head of a near-by Templar who managed to break through the small ranks of a few namely Professors. The Templar, damaged enough, fell to Anders' feet with a loud clang. The sound was like a metallic brick hitting concrete, having being dropped from a cliff. Anders felt a tantamount of new-found moral from this small victory and cast a fireball spell upon a Templar whose temporary silence spell had just lifted. The scorched male's screams lifted into the air with a loud flare of apocalyptic fire.

Bane, meanwhile, shifted his blades down upon Fenris, breaking through the guard the male had put up. He gave a sharp cry after Bane lifted up with a loud crack, of wooden shoes, lifting from the ground. It was like watching in slow motion the way he spun. The silver blades slashed sideways in a flurry of motion. Fenris  stumbled back, expression shocked. Silence fell across the room when the Warden dropped to his feet, rocking a second with one blade above his head, the other outwards from his abdomen.

Everyone, both mage and Templar alike, glanced over as the battle halted. Thin walls fell silent. Not even the large spiders, repopulating below Hossberg, making a sound. It was like all time had halted for a second, and then blood trickled down a divergent line. Suddenly, the divergent line opened, the top of the divide slipping on a slope towards the floor.

"THE MAGES KILLED THE KNIGHT COMMANDER! KILL THEM!" Came a cry, despite Bane not directly being one per-say. To the Templars, Bane was only worth the opposing cause, now.

It was like the Templars had found even more strength than before, pounding their cries across silent halls.

 

* * *

 

 

Mordred stood before the divide of control that Templars raised all too far above his kind's head. It seemed so easy...

He paused.

 _Far too easy_.

There had to be some kind of trap, some...some back ups, re-enforcement. _One inept guard doesn't exactly seem like the smartest move, even for the Temps_. He mused quietly. Turning his head, he narrow-eyed the area. He sighed out, and then felt something resonate within him, " ** _Call -on me, Mortal_**."

It didn't seem like the smartest move, but at this point the red-stained viles before him were seemingly too easy to achieve. He was willing to try anything to ensure he could get the news back, and so he did. Closing his eyes, he tried desperately to commune back. He tried thinking back to all his keeper had told him, in comparison to what he'd been taught now...

 

 

 

> _Many spirits reside in the beyond, Mahonnan. There are no good or bad, there are only those seeking to help and those seeking to hinder. Remember that the Dread Wolf will try to harm any who is unwary._
> 
> _**But with all the bad spirits...why do we still speak to them? Why do we not just...stay away?  
>  ** _

(I was but a wide eyed young boy, then. I remember my keepers soft smile, almost amused. Her eyes would crinkle at the edges, because she knew my age and my ignorance.)

 

 

 

> _Lethallin, the beyond is our only connection to the past. You know, your father once stood in your same position, asked the same question with that same look in his eye. Do you know what I told him?_

(I shook my head...by the gods I remember it so well...)

 

 

 

> _Although things may seem ominous, so dangerous, sometimes they are not so malevolent as they seem if one keeps a keen eye. That said, there are also so many spirits willing to aid us in recovering and restoring. When you need speak to them, all you need is to call upon your ancestors. But...do not let them into you, Lethallin. Mortality will corrupt even the most benevolent. If one such event occurs, you MUST aid them in finding a way back to the fade...no matter the costs.  
>  _
> 
>  

Mordred opened his eyes...

There were only two ways to do this.

And the only option he had on hand was...

Frowning deeply, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the task at hand. "Spirit..." He spoke aloud, concentrating on all the fade sparkling and shimmering within him, "I know you seek to aid...please...I give you my mind willingly...but I have to promise you...when this is all over, I will get you back into the beyond no matter the costs." And it was in that moment, where Mordred faded away, and Mahonnan returned...

* * *

 

 

"Anders! I'm not sure how much longer we can hold them! WE MUST run!" Maylin said, his back against the wall along with the rest of the mages, and their Rogue friend.

Garrett looked over at his leader, eyes wide. Anders swallowed, all his younger life he'd been a runner, and now...the one time he needed to, he almost feared to. It was like conceding defeat in the face of the Templars. He cast another spell in unison with their friends, sending the squadron back. Lunging forward, Bane slashed down another Temp and flipped back to the wall where they'd pressed themselves in defense.  
  
Maylin scoffed when Bane managed down behind the cover again, "We're going to die here, child! A leader must know when to run, and when to fight! This is when to run!" The Templars backed off and regrouped themselves to another charge. "We're losing numbers, child! There are only ten of us left, and around 30 of them!"

Garrett looked over with a determined glance, hands clasping the cold stone of the block they'd managed themselves, "Anders." Suddenly the blonde turned his attention to the man he loved, "I can fight them. If you want to stay...I'll gladly fight for our lives."

The Warden Commander growled, "I'm behind you. If you want to try and destroy these foul shems, I will follow behind your steps, whether that leads to victory or oblivion."

"If you want to lead your forces to their deaths, be my guest." The First Enchanter said, "But anyone who would prefer living may follow me and Maylin to safety of another, more balanced, Circle." The male blasted a hole through the wall, and kicked off at a run. Maylin laid down a Ward just behind them for a fail-safe, heading out behind his new leader.

Meanwhile...

Nobody else moved.

"We want to fight..." Said a younger mage, catching Anders attention. "Lead us...Anders..."

Anders' eyes watered, but he suddenly said, "I'm amazing...at most things...but I think...we might do better under Garrett."

Garrett looked up for a split second, and about refused. But when Anders gave him a look, Garrett's eyebrows punched together and he nodded. "Follow me!" He said, standing up. He looked beside him for a split second at Anders, and smiled. "FOR FREEDOM!" He said, holding up his staff. When Garrett sounded the notion, Anders felt more touched than he ever had, and held up his staff in unison.

The Templars, clearly shocked at this new-found Moral, took a step back each. They were powerful in numbers, but weren't as smart as the scholarly intellect that Mages held with them. The Mages, meanwhile, responded by saying the same like the precious litany was a calling card to a new era. They were compelled by the powerful notion, raising their staffs and jumping over the cover.

"MAGES! SPELLS NOW!" Garrett commanded, and the shocked Templars were bombarded by the powerful magic that came at a surprisingly new-found strength.

 

* * *

 

Mordred's hands shook as he stumbled back from the animated suits of armor. He was about to try and cast a mass spell of flames that could just destroy every enemy in the room, but for the first time his palms lit up blue. No, no, not now...

He didn't-

" ** _You have fought valiantly, but these creatures must feel Justice's BURN!_** " His vision was once again surrounded by black, tinted a lightning blue when he opened them. Power surged through his body with a fury he'd grown to be comforted by. Yet he hadn't offered for Justice to take over this time, and that scared him beyond belief. He found a black blast responding through his fingers, the fade tangling with this world and shattering his enemies in a display of small flakes. It was like disintegration, but much darker.

Blue flames lit up his form as he floated across the room, commanding black demons to rise from the ground without his control. It was then that Mordred internally began to struggle against the binds that pinned him without control, for he feared what may yet be to come.

"The phylactyries are destroyed, JUSTICE! It's OVER! Let me return!" He called to the depths of his mind to no avail.

" ** _NO. You have no meaning of what I intend. I will DESTROY those warriors with all my STRENGTH! ONLY THEN WILL JUSTICE BE SERVED!_** "

"NO, JUSTICE! Not like this! This is not the way!"

* * *

 

Garrett had been leading them to victory. But there were powerful among these warriors, and those had been standing for some time. Running low on Mana, the mages retreated back to cover with a sudden pang of fear settling into their hearts.

Garrett called out, "Do not fear we will-" Just as the wall blasted open with the force of a thousand griffins' wings. A floating, blue Mordred greeted their eyes, pupils slit over with a fade-like ethereal quality.

"Mordy...oh maker..." Anders said, eyes widened from where he peered.

" ** _I AM NO LONGER MORDRED. I am...JUSTICE!_** " Was the cry that sent a spiked amount of dismay and anxiety through the room.

The Templars screams were loud, but quickly silenced.

Sounds of blood splattering this way and that, squishing of internal organs, and crunching of bones sent shutters through the mages. When the smoke had cleared, Garrett got up timidly and held out his hands, walking towards the organ covered form of his best friend. "Mordred...Mordred-I know you're in there..."

But when the head turned up, it was no longer Justice. Green eyes filled to the brim with fear, recognition of Garrett came with a sensation of shame at the frightened expressions behind him. The remaining 4 mages, and their Rogue friend, were all glancing with trepidation at the sight. Garrett slowly kneeled down, trying not to hurl at the sight of his best friend's form. It was surrounded with blood and he was covered like a Christmas tree in organs. Dripping from his lips was the remains of one of their hearts. The brunette human desperately unbound one of the internal organs from his friend's body, throwing it to the side with disgust. Mordred's stomach was unnaturally distended, his hands clasped protectively over the top. "Lethallin..." The elf suddenly choked.

"Maker...is this what happened that caused..." He trailed off.

"Oh gods...I...I ate another..." It was like all this had just hit him at once, the shock of past actions settling into a contrite, notorious, blood-curdling present. "By Falon'Din...." Calling the name of the guide to the beyond and this world was only a minute summation of the severity. It wasn't the first time this had happened, yet here he was. It was as if this time, seemed worst than the last - countless felonies adding up to a tangled mess of morality.

Whispers resonated through-out the mages, hushed rumors of a contorted problem surfacing in lethargic mass recognition.  "It's over, Mordy..." Garrett choked, feeling both nausea and solicitude. "...It's over...they're dead, you..."

"No-"

"-you can-"

"No-" He croaked, frightened.

"-trust me...we'll fix-"

"Garrett, it's never going-"

"STOP....stop..." He held out his hand, struggling with words, "-don't-"

"Garrett-" He placed his hands on his shoulder, a sloppy chopped up piece of mortal meat sliding off and down his chest. It was squishy and disgusting, making small noises like lasagna that's been spilled across the floor in a tumbling mess. "-you know...you know what needs to be done here..." Tears shimmered in the elf's eyes as he looked up to the friend he'd had since he was drug leg-first into this hellhole. "It's over...yes, it's over...but it's over for you. I...will always be haunted...I...cannot live this way...it's...it's a crime, Lethallin..."

Garrett could have sworn that if he wasn't hardened by years of seeing, and receiving abuse, he could have broken down about as messily as the surrounding gore. "Don't say these things, Mordy-we'll...we'll find a way, I swear it!"

Anders stumbled over, looking forlorn, he settled next to the love of his life, and his best friend. "We just got you back..." He pointed out, voice more whisper than statement.

"I don't think you were supposed to..." Mordred said sadly, a resigned smile on his face, "...what happened...it was...it ISN'T natural. What has occurred went against the laws of the natural order..." He closed his eyes, "He doesn't feel right about what is to happen, but he will understand." He spoke more to, and about, Justice than anything. "He will...you must..." Green eyes greeted his long-time friends, "Please...you must send my soul to Falon'Din and his brother. I...have lived far too long and seen far too many things..."

"You're only 25!" Anders protested futilely, vision of running away with his friend and lover, living a happy life as he walked into the sunset crumbling before his eyes.

"Yet I have had two lovers, viewed my child and previous life mate die, watched my clan die, watched mages be tortured, and lived through a great battle...a great plan. I have seen many friends, and had the two best of them all." He pulled them both close around their necks, and closed his eyes. A singular tear ran down his cheek for a moment, before he leaned back and said, "You must do what is to be done...please."

"I cannot..." Anders choked, Garrett hanging his head beside the blonde whose tone spoke so many volumes beyond the way he felt he could. "We...we could not...."

"You must...and you must be strong about it..." Mordred closed his eyes, breathing out with tears staining his cheeks. The way he said it showed he had to partially convince himself to the truth. "Please...or have someone else do so...it's the only way to release Justice to where he belongs...but do not fear. I will see Dorian again. I will see my child, my lover, my clan..." He opened his eyes sadly. "All of them...once more. And I will enjoy watching both of you from the beyond, in my great rest."

"I can do so, if you cannot. I can give him his last rights...it is only fitting that one Dalish would send another to the beyond..." They turned to see Bane right behind them, a look of familiarity in his eyes. "I know how hard it is to see a friend fall before you, let alone at your hand...and I would not force you to suffer what I have."

Garrett choked, "No..." He said hoarsely, "I will-...I will do it..." Bane laid a hand down upon the dusty brown haired human when he did, speaking soft words in elven that the male didn't understand, but somehow found comforting. When the Dalish took a step back, and lowered his hood, head turned downwards in respect - Anders made some choked noise he'd tried desperately to hold within himself. Garrett closed his eyes, remembering his first name...

Andel.

An idea, a foundation, but something in the past he could never truly recover again. Reaching out his palm, the 18 year old clasped the 19 year old blonde's palm in comfort. 

Mordred spoke up, "Both of you...clasp one of my hands...I wish only to go holding the hands of my closest friends. I wish only to walk into oblivion with my companions...that have stood beside me all the years I have sat in these hallowed, harrowing halls." 

Mordred almost seemed resigned, eyes closing while Garrett drew the small dagger. 

"Goodbye..." He choked out the blood, "My.....friends..."

 

* * *

 

 

_It was like something, everything, all manner of the universal knowledge left him in a resonantly lost manner._

_No...actually, lost isn't quite the right term for it. More..._

_Like all those cares were shuffled behind him for now. It was like they were there, but he felt himself not having to worry about them anymore._

_White surrounded his vision, but faded into the sight of a familiar Tevintan male. A smile, and then, "Dorian."_

_"Surprising, no? I believed myself to be whisked off somewhere else! I never actually expected to be placed in a situation where peace is here in the afterlife." He held out his hand, clasping it in greeting to Mordred's. "You know, I half expected you to join me. Of course, then we would have to work our way up in power. With my charms, and your res...well, correct that to 'semi-" He was quickly punched in the shoulder with the opposing arm, "-eugh...come now! I'm too pretty to be hit in this manner! Such a scandalous move, my dear elf-"_

_A roll of the eyes, "I would think that there would be more shocking and scandalous moves I could manage than that, my dear human." The brunette retorted._

_"Oh-hoooo~ See, I told you the afterlife is not so clean as one may expect..."_

_The elf paused, looking over his shoulder and downwards. He could make out his friends grieving over his darkened, slowly cooling body. "Do you think they'll be fine without us, Dorian?"_

_"Unlikely..." Dorian said matter-of-factly, "You know them...they can't take five steps without our charm and glory."_

_"Doriiiian." He complained._

_Pavus held his hand up, letting go of the brunette's hand, "Oooo, touchy serious elf!" He snickered, teasing him more. But Dorian grew serious for once and nodded, "They will find their way. They are not so alone as you believe...we can influence them easily. Actually, I've had quite fun causing an uncomfortable amount of cookie crumbs to your pillow."_

_He put his hand on his head, remember that, "Gods, that was you? Do you know how much water I had to sneak just to keep my hair clean from that?!"_

_"Oh, pretty little elf, you have no idea~" He gave him a jerk, "Come, we must be on our merry way. There are plenty of upetty elves that wish to see you..."_

_"Upetty is one way of putting it..." He chuckled as they faded into white, "You think those two will ever just get it over with and kiss?"  
_

_A chuckle resonated, "One has to wonder..."_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sorrow.

 

Misery.

 

Anguish.

 

Distress.

 

Agony.

 

Pain.

 

Torment.

 

Suffering.

 

Woe, desolation, mournfulness, bereavement, lamentation, heart-break, dejection...

 

So many adjectives and none quite adequate to how those two humans felt, leaning over their deathly silent body with agonizingly closed eyes.

 

The mages knew that if any more Templars were in the vicinity it was time to go while they had the chance to recuperate themselves, but they gave a moment for decency's sake. Finally, it was Bane who spoke, "We must go..." He said, tugging upon the arm of Garrett with a soft touch. Anders almost outright refused the notion with a noise, but Garrett clasped his hand upon the male's arm silently. The motion was harsh, despite the tender disconnectedness inside, and it made the male flinch quietly. As they started to walk down towards the blasted hole, and Bane called about his descent to aid the children hidden (and sheltered) where they'd left them, Anders leaned his hand back and sent out small sparks of flame for his friend's body. The light was as bright as Mordred used to be before the Spirit of Justice so corrupted his living, breathing corpse, the gesture fit for the funeral of a king.

 

As they began a quiet descent, no mage daring to speak as Bane directed them along towards a small outlet to the children (then towards the quiet exit he'd kept hidden for so many years without the Templar's knowledge) Garrett suddenly paraphrased words he remembered his mother once saying, "...this fight started with four of us...it'll never be over with just two..." And huddled his arm around Anders' shoulders in a finality.

 

* * *

 

"Is this what the real sun looks like?" One of the children spoke as the barren, red, rocky structure of the Anderfels appeared before them. Hossberg used to be in the capital, after what it was so named, but the Templars since moved it in the outskirts to keep their business and cruelty quiet.

 

"It's kind of bright..." Said another.

 

"I'm not sure I like it...it hurts my eyes..." Called the child closest to Anders.

 

Anders felt curiosity and a burning familiarity light him up from the inside, just as Garrett called the attention of some 23 mages remaining. "Listen everyone...it's time to get moving to safety...we're going to have to avoid civilization as best we can...too many mages wandering in a pack will draw unneeded attention. Anders has run the paths out of Hossberg before, he can lead us to safety."

 

A nod, and Anders cleared his throat. Several whispers of wonder silenced in a quick flourish as Anders cleared his throat, "I know a quiet path down towards Fereldan I once took. I'll teach you what you need to know, maybe even Garrett can...then we'll send you with one adult, or elder teenager, to wherever destiny may carry you." These words were more for comfort, he didn't truly believe in most of that 'fate' stuff anyways.

 

It was only now that the problems of their 'oh-so-flawless-plan' was coming to bare. The problems remaining included so many young children, so many people that hadn't touched the world in ages, if at all. Running was one thing, living was another...

 

"I promise you...I will make sure all of you are prepared for the world...we...Garrett and I...we'll make sure you are..." Anders reached out in a sideways motion, suddenly tangling his fingers within the slightly tanner skin, than his own. The eldest Hawke child smiled over at him, no words needed to express the quiet sentiment they no longer needed to hide. For once, Garrett didn't flinch from Anders' touch, for he felt stronger than he ever had before, despite the pains in his legs from battle and the wounds along his body...

 

Despite the agony he felt in his heart for the lost souls of this fight, as well as Mordred's.

 

For once in their life...they were finally going to freedom.

 

They were finally....

 

_**FREE** _

 

* * *

 

 

The children, teens, and mages were all fascinated with the small specs of brown dirt leading into the muddy, mucky terrain of Fereldan. Making it to the docks in Denerim with such a large crowd was tricky, given the fact that there were so many Templars surrounding the Chantry right at the gates of Denerim. Luckily, Bane managed to call on an old contact from his days in the Grey, and no less than an hour later a tan Antivan Elf with a ridiculous accent (apparently named Zevran) was shepherding them around to a friend of his. The 'friend' turned out to be a female captain, of a pirate ship, named Isabela. She smuggled them into the hull of her ship, with no less than a large amount of innuendos exchanged between her and Garrett that caused Anders to spit a few brown embers of fire from his eyes in jealousy.

 

In exchange for passage, Garrett agreed to aid her in any way he could, working as one of the crew members. He offered Anders' help as well, much to the blonde's silent distaste. That said, he sucked it up this once for the sake of the young mages depending on them.

 

Isabela seemed to give Anders more than enough credit though, and soon they were staring out at the waves of the sea - crashing against the wooden lower portions of the boat.

 

As Fereldan faded from view, Anders suddenly began looking back upon his life inside the Circle. "Where are we headed?" He asked quietly to the captain on one morning a few months after they'd left.

 

"That depends, hun." She said with her unintentionally seductive tone, or maybe it was intentional given the next comment. "Do you like to ride or are you more of someone who goes in for a landing?" She gave him a wink and a smile that caused Anders to groan. A year ago, Anders probably would have laughed and responded with something like: 'You asking if my rutter can make it all the way there? Cause I assure you it lasts quite some time.'

 

Garrett, typically, responded in that laid-back way of his, witty banter just popping straight from his lips as he swabbed the dirty plank he'd been working on for an hour now. "Admittedly, Anders likes to be on top of the boat rather than get down and let himself be washed over by the wild, wild, waves." He emphasized wild with a gleaming smile, causing the Blonde to go beat red.

 

"Oh myyy..." Isabela said, her voice almost breathless in nature, like the mere image gave her an orgasm.

 

"Andeeel." Anders warned, causing the male to look up and smile with this half shit-eating, half innocent grin. He knew that when Anders got angry at him he called him his true name, and that was the only time. The smile, though, made Anders crack and shake his head, chuckling innocently as he sighed - finally dropping the rag back into the soapy bucket. He was finished, lifting up the bucket by it's unsteady handle and heading downstairs to store it away for now.

 

The day was coming to a close when he got back up, greeted by the sight of Garrett handing off his bucket to a shipmate heading back down to another uncleanly area. Earlier in his life Anders would have figured that when a boat was surrounded by water, it probably would be perfectly clean. Not now that he'd experienced things first hand.

 

Seeing Garrett leaning against the railing towards the back of the boat, staring at the red sky reflecting the last light of the sun, Anders smiled and snuck up behind him. As the blonde settled himself down upon the back of the boat next to him, allowing his feet to dangle listlessly against the wind, "Love..." He spoke as Garrett leaned back, re-situating himself against Anders' back with arms wrapped around his lover's torso. He found the scruff, of his lover's beard, scratching against his jaw in a tickling fashion and stiffled back a not-so-masculine giggle. Lifting his hand back, he ran his fingers through the brown follicles of hair. "...where are we headed?" He asked Hawke.

 

"...Kirkwall." Hawke said suddenly. "I know, not the first place you'd expect...but I used to have family there...I remember when I was young, my mother used to speak of how she lived in an estate as a little girl. Perhaps we could head there quickly, quietly, and settle down. Adopt kids. Live quietly. We wouldn't have to get involved in any reckless, dangerous things, or even stupid events that pass us by...."

 

"You know..." Isabela said to aid her new-found travelers, "I...think I remember meeting a Dwarf there..." Her voice went husky, "I remember him having such beautiful chest hair..."

 

"Uh..." Anders wasn't going to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but this also seemed very peculiar. Besides, saying goodbye to Bane and the others was probably going to be the hardest thing that Anders had done since Mordy's death.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Spinning around an arrow, the Dwarf introduced himself with a smirk, "How do you do? Varric Tethras at your service....and have I got the opportunity...for you."

 

Anders took one look at the light in his lovers eyes and only thought one thing: _Here we go again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Playlist...
> 
> 1\. Mass Effect 3 Soundtrack: Leaving Earth  
> 2\. Linkin Park: The Catalyst  
> 3\. Linkin Park: 21 Guns  
> 4\. Linkin Park: New Divide  
> 5\. Linkin Park: Where I Belong  
> 6\. Simon Curtis: Diablo  
> 7\. My Chemical Romance: Mama  
> 8\. The Rasmus: Lost and Lonely  
> 9\. Limp Bizkit: Behind Blue Eyes  
> 10\. Adele: Set Fire To The Rain  
> 11\. Imagine Dragons: Battle Cry  
> 12\. Avenged Sevenfold: Natural Born Killer  
> 13\. Metallica: Enter Sandman  
> 14\. Imagine Dragons: Warriors  
> 15\. Thirty Seconds To Mars: This Is War  
> 16\. Imagine Dragons: Ready, Aim, Fire  
> 17\. Half Moon Run: Hey Murderer  
> 18\. Paranoia: A Day To Remember  
> 19\. Phil Collins: Sound The Bugle  
> 20\. Unkle: Lonely Soul  
> 21\. La Dispute: Such Small Hands  
> 22\. Guns N' Roses: Don't You Cry  
> 23\. Red: Ordinary World  
> 24\. Metallica: Nothing Else Matters  
> 25\. James Blunt: Goodbye My Lover  
> 26\. Pink Floyd: Hey You  
> 27\. Ryan Dan: Tears of an Angel  
> 28\. Coldplay: Fix You  
> 29\. Linkin Park: Shadow of the Day
> 
> Additional Track: Hoobastank: The Reason (I didn't actually write to this, I reflected after finishing)
> 
> \---------------------
> 
> Stay tune for our next installation of the Mages Renounce Series...
> 
> "Blood has since stained the halls of the darkened Circle where Hossberg once was. Word has spread widely of the events at Hossberg, although the events...in all honesty, have long been tangled in question unanswered by rather unproductive investigations of the Dragon era. There are two things that are known however...
> 
> Number one: Mages were responsible for whatever may have happened. 
> 
> And Number Two: There is serious evidence of an abomination that once wandered lonely halls.
> 
> There is a serious problem that remains; however, for nobody can track whomever may have left that place and there are too many completely destroyed corpses to decipher. And so the Chantry is left to scratch their heads and try desperately to find whomever may be responsible."


End file.
